Unfortunately Enthralled
by ReaperRain
Summary: In the Brotherhood, two assassins, two Dunmer, two people enthralled with each other from the start. Alval Uvani/Banus Alor. Eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

Suitably titled, because _I'm_ rather unfortunately enthralled with these two. And while I've written oneshots before, I decided to try my hand at a multi-chapter fic detailing the relationship that isn't even _remotely_ hinted at in the game, but you all know it's canon.

No? Just me? Ah well...

For those of you who read the summary and are wondering: 'all very well, but who are Banus and Uvani?!' then...I expect you've not seen my other stuff, so I'll explain: Alval Uvani is the grumpy Dunmer you have to assassinate late into the Dark Brotherhood storyline – you know the one, "Get any closer and I'll turn your bones to ash!" Isn't he a sweetheart? No? Just me again...

And Banus Alor is one of the few remaining Speakers at the end of it all, who says what, two lines before he gets killed? But he left enough of an impression on me to become one of my favourite characters. And so I, as a dedicated fangirl, have dutifully paired him up with Uvani to create much slash and rocking of socks.

Thusly, if you're fine with the idea of awkward romance between two male Dunmer, read on! Hopefully I will also turn you into a fangirl- er, I mean, entertain and wow you. Yeah, that. So enough with the long introduction, let's start already!

**Disclaimer: **don'townOblivionokaylet'sgetonwiththestorynow.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter one

He's never seen a gentle assassin before.

He's been at the Leyawiin sanctuary long enough to observe the full scope of emotions new initiates possess. Plenty have been _angry_, yes, plenty turbulent and troubled. Some have a sadistic glint to their eyes, a macabre glee, and some have the despair and world-weariness of a broken soul. Some wear an emotionless mask – some truly _are_ emotionless, dead and hollow inside, incapable of sentiment.

But he has never seen gentle.

He comes in soaked from the outside rain, though it does not hinder his gracefulness, that ethereal elegance that belongs to the Altmer even though his eyes are red ad his skin is dusky-blue. Uvani tends to regard newcomers – and even those he has known for years – with distrust, but he finds himself staring in wonderment; at least, until the stranger-whose-name-he-does-not-yet-know meets his gaze, giving him a serene smile. And Uvani, who is _not_ a silly adolescent, catches himself and curls his lip into a trademark sneer, the one that tells all the new recruits: _You're no brother of mine._

"Gather, everyone," their Speaker calls out, and the others hurry to obey – except Uvani, but they're all used to him lurking in the background by now, "We have a new addition to the family."

Said new addition is still looking at him, he realises, craning his neck to see past the rest of the group. His scowl intensifies, but it doesn't seem to be working, so he turns away and menaces the wall instead. He's always been good at being alone in a crowded room, and so he successfully blocks out the words of the Speaker, misses the initiate's name in the process. He misses the Speaker departing, the others dispersing, and the approach of the young Dunmer who has been watching him the entire time.

"Is the wall very interesting?"

He tenses, glares up at the boy with an unwavering smile and eyes too kind to belong to a killer; "Do you want something, or did you just come over to bother me?" he snaps, because that's how he treats everyone and this is no different.

"Depends. Does giving your name bother you?" his voice is soft but not shaky or fearful like the flighty ones, nor cold and clipped like the assertive ones. "You are...?"

He gives him a withering look that doesn't work in the slightest, "Alval Uvani. Executioner by rank, aka higher than you."

"Uvani," the newcomer repeats thoughtfully, completely ignoring the status jibe, "I'm-"

"I don't care," he interrupts sharply, "Just stay out of my way and don't give me a reason to hurt you. Got it?"

"Brother," another assassin speaks, pulling the initiate away, "Come with us, we'll show you around the sanctuary," and as they leave, he evidently forgets that elves have exceptionally good ears, because Uvani still hears him despite the low mutter: "Don't mind him. He acts that way towards everyone."

He is used to such words, and so merely sneers at the assassin's retreating back before turning away again. He is renowned and for the most part disliked for his brusque, snappy attitude, but he has always ignored the behind-his-back comments of his peers, even when he was still a lowly Murderer. Now he ranks above most, and smirks inwardly when they flinch away from him, too fearful of his prowess in Destruction magic and too cowardly to do anything but whine and sulk when they think he is out of earshot.

He rises from his chair, in the mood for a solitary wander out in the rain, when the newcomer turns and glances at him again. He scowls back, but it only causes the other mer to smile and mouth something soundlessly at him. A petty insult, he thinks at first, but when he actually registers the movement of his lips, he realises it is, in fact, a name:

_Banus Alor._

* * *

"You're to follow Banus."

He glances boredly at the Breton man, "Who?"

"Banus Alor. You know, the new brother you've been ignoring all week?" the Master of the sanctuary clicks his tongue disdainfully, among those who scorn Uvani's antisocial tendencies, "He's received his first proper contract. The Speaker wants you to shadow him, observe his style of assassination, any strengths or flaws, then make a report."

Uvani's lip curls again, "_I_ am the most skilled assassin in this sanctuary. I have more important things to do than play babysitter for an underling."

"Speaker's instructions, Uvani," the other mercenary grimaces, the accusation of _Arrogance..._ in his eyes, but not on his lips. But there's triumph as well, at the – _only_ – leverage he has over the Executioner, "Unless you're refusing orders...?"

"Of course not," since that's grounds for invoking the Wrath of Sithis. Which he hasn't done _yet_, though he's come close in the past, when his temper was spikier and the muttered words got to him more. "The will of the Black Hand is law...even if it _is_ a waste of my talents."

After receiving the details of the contract – and a glare for his attitude – Uvani follows Banus as he makes his way North, towards Bravil. The objective is simple enough, to eliminate the man taking refuge in the city chapel; a task given on the assumption that Alor prefers stealth to brutality, but then he hardly seems the berserker type, and he carries a small dagger as opposed to a war axe.

Beyond that, however, Uvani has no idea what to expect, and he is admittedly curious as to how this night will go. Not that he usually wonders about the newcomers, but Banus is different in that _he doesn't seem like a killer_. His voice is too soft, his smile is too warm, his manner is too peaceful to belong to one of the Dark Brotherhood. Does he change, perhaps? After all, there are some Speakers who seem pleasant and charismatic enough, but eventually show their true colours as brutal, bestial things with a thirst for blood. And Uvani, being more perceptive than most, has always been able to see past that façade of perfection, to detect something not quite right with them. But not with this one...if that serenity is indeed no more than a mask, it is utterly flawless.

His curiosity only grows as he pursues the Murderer through the bleak, dank town of Bravil, towards it's equally raggedy chapel of Mara. Everyone is asleep this late into the night, and Banus has little trouble sneaking past the priests and healers down to the room where his target slumbers; Uvani follows swift and silent, hidden by the useful chameleon spell all assassins pick up eventually.

The man twitches in his bed even though Banus makes next to no sound, and so he is careful not to shut the door, knowing it will wake him. He approaches gracefully, unhurriedly, and Uvani expects that soft smile to turn predatory, but it does not. He's never seen anyone look so benevolent even as they cover a victim's nose and mouth and proceed to smother them in their sleep.

Unsurprisingly, the man wakes up, instantly recognising the dark armour and concealing hood of a Dark Brotherhood assassin. His eyes widen in panic, moans muffled from the gloved hand covering his face, desperately thrashing and pushing and hitting whatever he can reach. Banus remains unfazed, smile widening as he tilts his head to one side, with a look so calm and compassionate it would seem he is healing the man instead of ending his life. For a moment, Uvani muses what it must look like, to have your vision haze and flicker, black tendrils of unconsciousness curling inwards like spilt ink with the certainty that you're going to die – and through it all, a demon-eyed saint, smiling down graciously as if to say _Rest now._

But the man's will to live is unbreakable, and through his struggles his hands find the dagger at Banus' hip, pulling it out in a desperate attempt of kill-or-be-killed. Banus is swift, catches the blade before it can be plunged into him, leaves his mark's mouth and nose exposed as he does so. The man gasps in air like it's his first breath, before trying to scream for help, and-

-Never gets the chance. The dagger, although Alor hadn't intended to use it, is driven deep into the man's throat, cutting through tendons, veins, and vocal chords. He can do no more than gurgle wetly, blood blossoming past his lips, down his face and onto his pillow. He shudders once, then falls back onto the bed with a lifeless thud and wide, glassy eyes. Uvani is so caught up in it all that he almost forgets to renew his chameleon spell; a soft tutting noise snaps him from his stupor, and he realises that, for the first time since meeting him, Banus Alor is not smiling. His lips are twisted into a frown that doesn't suit him, eyes sombre and rather saddened at the blood staining the man's paling skin.

He's never seen an assassin look at a dead target like that before.

He's never seen a assassin clean up his own murder either.

It seems like such a strange thing to do, carefully wiping away the blood with a spare scrap of cloth, wrapping the wound even though it benefits no-one, certainly not the long-deceased victim. He really does look like a healer now, handling the corpse as though it's still alive and made of glass, dabbing tenderly at crimson-stained lips with that same gentle expression. He turns the pillow over so the evidence is on the underside, disposes of the bloody cloth and, as an afterthought, folds the man's shirt collar upwards so it covers his bandaged neck.

_He doesn't like to leave marks._

It's ridiculous, Uvani thinks – because what does it matter if there are marks, when the person is dead and gone? Of course removing incriminating evidence is fine, but going to lengths like that is just _stupid._ Not to mention impractical, since it's almost an hour before Banus is smiling again now he has perfected everything, to the extent that the man looks not dead but asleep, albeit for the cold whiteness of his skin. He then leaves swiftly before the priests have their early rise; Uvani can only imagine how baffled they will be to discover their guest lifeless, but thoughtfully arranged so as to appear not _murdered_, but gently embraced by death, and Sithis.

Perhaps that is the message Banus wishes to give.

So he understands the meaning, but not the motives, why the young Dunmer is so particular over how his victims should appear. There is still much he does not know, so much mystery that he cannot help being intrigued by, despite an inner spike of protest to keep this one at arm's length, as he does with everyone else. In the end, he tells himself that he's not about the befriend the boy – he doesn't _need_ friends – but perhaps he can keep an eye on him from time to time. After all, he still needs to gauge whether the initiate can be trusted, something he can normally determine right away, but he will need to observe Banus further. Purely in the interest of self-preservation, of course.

But for today, his task is done. Banus is making his way back to the sanctuary and Uvani is already mentally wording his report: the details of what he has seen will raise more than a few eyebrows in the Black Hand, he is sure. Tomorrow there will be commotion, when the body of the murdered man is found, but for now, the streets are quiet, and no-one notices the two assassins as they depart Bravil, like passing whispers in the night.

* * *

I could leave this as a oneshot, but I intend to add more chapters, though I don't know how long it will be yet. And because I haven't written ahead like I've done with GBR, bear in mind that updates won't be as frequently scheduled, though I can guarantee I won't ever abandon the story.

Tell me if you liked it ^-^. I'd like to know I'm not the only fangirl of these two out there.


	2. Chapter 2

While last chapter was Uvani's POV, this one will belong to Banus Alor. I'm planning to alternate it each chapter, so you get the story from both sides.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter two

He's become rather enamoured with Alval Uvani.

That's odd, because he doesn't really _get_ attached to people. Certainly, he gets on with them well enough, but it never develops beyond that, and he's not yet been sad to see someone go – death or otherwise. Some would claim that makes him cold, emotionless, but he doesn't feel that way, just...distant. Separate from everyone else, somehow.

Maybe that's why he feels a certain kinship with Uvani; every time he has seen the Dunmer he has been alone, and he only seems to engage in conversation when he absolutely must. The other assassins aren't terribly happy about that, grumbling frequently when Alval is not present (silly, he thinks, because what will vindictive back-chat achieve?) They have tried encouraging him to join, but he will not – nor will he leap to the mer's defences, because he still doesn't know him too well, but he politely tells them he does not yet have a reason to complain.

And why should he moan about a trait he finds admirable? There is a certain strength that comes with being a lone wolf. He still remembers when he first entered the sanctuary, how everyone scurried to obey the Speaker in a mix of respect and fear. But Uvani stayed exactly where he was, he recalls, without so much as a change of expression. He was not afraid, he was not subservient, he was not about to move from his perfectly good chair for some man with a black robe and a fancy title. It makes him, in Banus' eyes, so much _more_ than everyone else here.

That is, he reasons, why his gaze and thoughts keep drifting to the Dark Elf, why he keeps finding little things to do, like sweeping the floors or tidying away the books, that will let him stay around his new-found fascination. Because he just likes being _near_ him, even though they haven't exchanged words since their introduction a week ago. He has an aura about him, a sense of pride and power that he can't help wanting to be close to. To admire someone so greatly after just a week...but then, a great deal has happened over seven days, from moving to the sanctuary he now calls home to his very first contract. Everyone asked him how it went, except Uvani, but he did not expect him to – and he has the sneaking suspicion that the Executioner already knows.

He is proven right.

Uvani is so immersed in his writing that he doesn't hear Banus approach, allowing the younger Dunmer a curious glance over his shoulder. On the paper is some sort of report, though concise and to the point, like Alval himself. As his eyes flick to and fro across the page, certain sentences jump out at him: _'adept at stealth'_, _'dagger as a last resort'_, and _'doesn't like to leave marks'_.

He smiles, because it doesn't take a genius to know who is being discussed: "Are you writing about me?"

Uvani, who hadn't realised he was standing so close, tenses and covers the paper with his arm, but Banus has seen enough anyway. "And _who_ gave you permission to read over my shoulder, underling?" he snaps at once.

It goes ignored; "So it _was_ you following me, then?" he presses, not quite able to explain the happiness behind such a notion "I thought there was someone else there, but I couldn't be sure...you were there the whole time?"

"Fine. Yes, I was watching," the other answers irritably, "Not that it's any of your business. I can shadow you any time I want, Murderer. After all, someone has to make sure you don't screw up...again."

He tilts his head to one side, "You thought I screwed up? I didn't get arrested."

"You ended up using the dagger even though you hadn't intended to. And because of that, you spent an extra hour cleaning up when you should have just left. Anyone could have walked in and caught you."

"Perhaps, but I couldn't just leave him like that. There was so much blood..."

Uvani snorts and turns away, "If seeing blood scares you, you're in the wrong profession. In fact, a lot of people here think the messier, the better."

"I'm not _scared_ of it, I'd just rather not see it," he half-protests, the adds: "What about you, Uvani? Do you like the sight of blood?"

"That's a morbid question. And also none of your concern. Why would you want to know something like that?"

"I'm curious about you. You're not like everyone else here."

Uvani pauses, but his back is still turned, so Banus can't read his facial expression. Eventually, he speaks: "Curiosity killed the mudcrab, Dunmer. But since you're brave and stupid enough to ask, I'll indulge you this once: I use Destruction magic. That leaves burns, not blood."

But of course, he already knew all that from the other assassins, and he's well aware that Alval has just tried to side-step the question. He really doesn't like giving information about himself away, but Banus isn't about to be tricked out of an answer: "But do you like seeing blood?"

"I don't _care_ what they look like," Uvani replies sharply, "So long as they're _dead._ What does it matter how clean or carved up they are? They're still going in a hole in the ground."

"Okay then," he feels a certain satisfaction, because he's learned a little more about his superior, even if he had to pester him into saying it. And since Uvani seems to be marginally more agreeable than usual, perhaps... "Uvani?"

"_What, _Murderer?"

"Can I sit with you for a little while?"

"No you can not," he snaps, "Now _go away_ before I use you as target practice, stupid boy. Go! Begone!"

He does not find himself disheartened, because he half-expected such an answer. Instead he gives a smile Uvani can't see, and inclines his head before departing.

* * *

He doesn't get to talk to Uvani again until the thunderstorm.

The worst Leyawiin has seen in years, the Master of the sanctuary tells them all, warning them to stay inside. Uvani ignores him, of course, strides out of the door with his nose in the air...strides back in thirty seconds later utterly _drenched_, and grudgingly admits that no-one will be leaving for a while. A few others titter at the state of him, but he ignores them and goes to find dry clothes, as proud and haughty as ever.

When supper-time comes around and the storm still hasn't let up, he's surprised when Uvani immediately volunteers for kitchen duty – and, as all the others are reluctant to spend any length of time with him, Banus steps forward to help. It makes him rather happy, because Alval _never_ eats with them, always leaving the sanctuary to get his food at the local inn. He can only assume he does so to avoid kitchen duty, since he doesn't have to wash the dishes if he isn't eating from them. Maybe that is why he volunteered today, so the others cannot accuse him of not doing his bit. In any case, he is ushered into the kitchen with the other Dunmer, catching a few mutters questioning why he would willingly assist 'that arrogant fetcher'. Uvani says nothing, but immediately takes to peeling potatoes with such a ferocity that it is evident he heard every word.

Banus decides he does not like seeing the mer upset; "Just ignore them."

"I _know_," Alval replies agitatedly, de-skinning three potatoes in under a minute, "I've put up with it for years. I learned to ignore them a long time ago."

"I'm sure they don't mean any harm-"

"They do," he cut across him at once, "They do. Most of them would kill me in a second, if it didn't invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Hah!" there's a short bark of a laugh, more bitter than anything else, "_Try_ to kill me, I meant. As if they would succeed. I could flash-fry them in the blink of an eye."

He doesn't really know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything, instead busying himself with the pots and pans. "What should we make, then?" he asks in nonchalant conversation, "A stew? We have potatoes carrots, onions...there's some mutton in the cupboard too, I think. Or should we make something else?"

"I don't know. Or care," Uvani waves a hand carelessly, "Dithering about the kitchen isn't my speciality. You sort it out."

"Stew it is," he murmurs, gathering everything they'll need, "I know a good recipe...yes, I'm sure they'll like it."

A snort; "They should be grateful we're giving them anything at all."

_We._ It's such a simple little word, but there's something about hearing it from Uvani that makes it seem important. Maybe because he so rarely uses it, it's always_ I:_ '_I_ am this', '_I_ don't like that', '_I_ will set you alight if you don't stop bothering me'. Or it's _you_: '_you_ are annoying', '_you_ are trying my patience', '_you_ will have your lips frozen shut if you don't be quiet'.

But never _we._ Uvani simply doesn't affiliate himself with other people. It's such a stupid thing to be happy about – a stupid thing to notice in the first place, really – but he finds himself smiling regardless. He'd like to hear _we_ more often.

"What's that dumb grin for?" Uvani interrupts his reverie, "You've always got a smile on your face for no reason whatsoever. You'll frighten people, walking around like that."

"I smile because I'm happy," he tilts his head to one side, "Does it unnerve you?"

"Of course not. I meant the idiots out there," he nods towards the kitchen door, and the rest of the sanctuary, "And anyway, I don't believe you. You smile far to much for it to be down to happiness. No-one can be happy _all the time._"

"I'm not. Just most of the time," he shrugs, and answers honestly: "I'm happy now, with you."

He could have sworn the Elf's cheeks tinted purple, but he isn't too sure, because 'Uvani' and 'blushing' are two words he would never put together. But he _does_ recognise the slightly stunned look in the red eyes as Alval stares, and he stares back with an unfazed smile until the older Dunmer clears his throat and looks away.

"I don't know why you'd think that," he mutters, though it looks as though he's talking to the floor, "I'm told I'm not very good company. Frequently."

"And yet you refuse to change any aspect of yourself for the preferences of others?" he waits for Uvani to nod before continuing, "That is why I like being around you."

The other doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Banus turns, starts chopping onions, and after a minute or so Alval steps up beside him to help. There's silence as they work, both blinking away onion-induced tears, but he does not find the lack of conversation awkward or unsettling. It simply _is_, and he feels no need to speak until the stew is bubbling away over the fire.

"Uvani," he asks quietly, tentatively, "Can I sit with you at the table?"

He's expecting a rejection like last time, but to his surprise, gets: "Fine, fine, if it'll stop you pestering me. But don't get too close. And don't talk my ear off, I want to eat in peace."

It's all he can do not to beam: "Okay," he agrees, then adds, "It'll be nice, having you stay for supper. You go out, usually."

"I neither like nor trust everyone else enough to eat with them."

"Trust?"

"Why do you think I called kitchen duty? If I have to stay here, I'll at least make sure no-one tampers with my food."

Banus raises an eyebrow, amused, "Paranoid much?"

That earns him The Glare; "I have every reason to be."

"You've had your food spiked before?" Uvani doesn't answer, and Banus goes from amused to concerned in an instant, because a silence can speak volumes, "Uvani...?"

"I'll tell you some other time, maybe," Alval notices the troubled expression, "Don't look so worried, nothing bad happened. I just don't plan on discussing it with someone I've known less than a month. Honestly...and get rid of that solemn face, it doesn't suit you at all."

Back to his old, insult-everything-that-breathes self. Banus feels his lips curls upwards again, "Didn't you tell me off earlier for smiling too much...?"

"I prefer your stupid grin to your stupid frown. Now..." Alval observes him, squinting with such an intensity that he can't help but chuckle, "Better. At least you look like a _happy_ idiot now."

And he's right, Banus _does_ feel happy – because even if he put it bluntly, even if he would deny it to his grave, Uvani has just told him: _I like to see you smile._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three! As we had Banus last time, this section of the story will go back to Uvani's POV.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter three

Banus turns out to be one of those extraordinarily rare people – besides the Speaker and a select few others – that Uvani actually gets along with.

And so roughly a month down the line, he invites him in his least inviting tone to have lunch with him, and tries not to look too happy when the other Dunmer accepts. It's not a _date_ or anything, he's just doing it because Banus deserves better than those insufferable sanctuary simpletons, especially with the little whispers that have started up since he began spending more time with Uvani. Of course, he doesn't tell Banus this – he refuses to give the impression that he's going soft – and so instead brusquely informs him: _You're marginally more tolerable than the others._

He's far more tolerable. In fact, he's probably the most tolerable person Uvani has ever come across, with his softly-spoken words and never-ending smile that, to Alval's amusement, is starting to unnerve the rest of the sanctuary. There _is_ something frightening about a person who can kill in cold blood and yet still smile so serenely all the time, but he is not so easily rattled, unlike those pathetic assassins. Besides, he has become accustomed to the Dark Elf's eerily calm manner, in the same way that Banus is used to _his_ bluntness and tendency to turn every sentence into an insult.

"This place is nice," Banus remarks as they eat in the Five Claws lodge, tucked away in a discreet corner where no-one can overhear them, "Cleaner that I'd expected. Quiet too. You come here every day?"

He nods; "Better than eating with those fetchers, right?"

"An extra expense, though..."

"Worth every septim," Conversation falls quiet, and he can't help but notice Alor aimlessly twiddling with his fork, "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing. Really."

That earns him a curt: "Don't be stupid. _Something's_ bothering you, and you'll gain nothing by holding it back. Out with it."

"It's just..." he sighs, puts down the fork, "Did the others really poison your food? And that's why you eat here?"

"You still remember that?" he can only just recall that discussion in the kitchen, since he forgot about it soon after – and had assumed Banus did the same. Though it does explain why he has frequently caught the Murderer looking so troubled over the past month. "If I had known it would bother you so much, I wouldn't have mentioned it."

"It shocked me a little," Banus admits, "I know they don't particularly like you, but to actually poison your food..."

"Idiot," the sharp, stern tone makes him look up and see Uvani frowning at him, "I haven't even told you what happened and you're already jumping to conclusions. You should be _laughing_, not getting upset over it."

Banus pauses, puzzled, "Laughing?"

"Hmph. I suppose I might as well tell you. It'll cheer you up, if nothing else," he leans forward, gestures for Banus to do the same so they can converse in low, hushed tones, "First off, nothing was _poisoned_. You can't kill someone with a Drain Fatigue potion. The intent was to humiliate, not harm."

He looks even more worried than before, "What did they do to you?"

"_Nothing_, stupid boy. Let me finish," he waves a hand dismissively, "I overheard their little scheme, took as many Fortify Fatigue potions as I could before eating – the addition barely affected me. But of course it was more fun to let them think otherwise..."

He's pleased to the note Banus' reaction to this, concerned expression melting away into eagerness, like a child being told a wondrous story, "Go on."

"So after complaining of tiredness and going to lie down, I watched them come in with a pot of paint each; they had intended for me to wake up _human_-coloured," Uvani gives a snort, "So I let them gloat a while, and just as they were about to start – the best Drain Fatigue spell you've ever seen. Tied them up when they were still reeling, stripped their clothes, and then revealed my own freshly-bought supply of-" he pauses, looking as deviously smug as Banus is ever likely to see him, "-Blue paint."

Banus laughs, musical and thoroughly delighted, "You painted them like Dunmer?"

"Head to toe, every last one of them. Best of all, they had timed it for the Speaker's visit so I would be further humiliated, but the tables were turned."

"Speaker didn't get angry with you?"

"Angry? He thought it was hilarious, especially when the irony of the situation was explained. I even got promoted for it – which those fetchers weren't too happy about, as you can imagine."

"But you did best them," Banus points out, "They wouldn't try spiking your food again after being humiliated like that, surely. So why inconvenience yourself like this for every meal?"

Uvani shakes his head; "Thick people never learn. _One_ of them would try something eventually, and next time I might not be around to overhear. It's safer this way. Besides..." he gives a quiet but scornful sound, "It's no inconvenience. I eat here because I want to, not because I'm afraid or in any way traumatised, understood?"

Alor looks down at the table sheepishly, "I thought something bad had happened to you. The way you refused to speak of it..."

"I didn't tell you because I barely knew you," Alval informs him, "It's a fond memory. I only share those with people I like."

He doesn't think he's ever seen Banus smile so brightly before.

* * *

Not long after this, the rumours start.

He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Malicious little brats, always looking for ways to hurt him – but he can brush off their words, so instead they badmouth the one person who doesn't deserve it. They don't bother keeping their voices down, and Banus hears every word, but he dutifully ignores it and keeps his head held high.

Jealousy has a lot to do with it, he reckons, because not even three months in and Alor has already been promoted twice, now at the rank of Eliminator. The Black Hand are apparently rather intrigued by his killing style and the message it leaves – that the Dark Brotherhood can not merely assassinate, but do so with not a mark left, no trace of injury or struggle. It shows that they can murder at a leisurely pace and still not get caught. Something that completely sails over the heads of those other sanctuary morons, most of them still flailing at Slayer rank with their crude, unrefined executions and frequently botched jobs. It's no miracle that Banus soon outstrips them, but it only feeds the fires of their envy.

And the other reason...quite simply, being affiliated with Uvani. That bothers him far more than their taunts ever could, because their grudge is with _him_, not the people he associates with. Banus may converse with him, eat with him, spend more time with him than he does the rest of the sanctuary – but he's always remained civil to them, never made any enemies nor acted unfriendly on Uvani's behalf. He should be kept out of this ridiculous vendetta, but simply by not playing the lapdog ally, he has become their enemy instead.

In any case, their antagonism drives Banus further away, further towards Uvani. That would normally irk him, so when he one day looks at the other Dunmer and realises he actually _likes_ his company, it's a surprise even to him. Then again, there's really nothing to _dis_like – his tepid quiescence and apparent inability to feel anything beyond mild emotion may be perceived flaws by some, but not Alval, because the last thing he wants is a loud, obnoxious, and overly sentimental fool following him around. Banus may have become his shadow, but at least he _acts_ like one as well by staying quiet and non-disruptive.

Uvani repays the favour sometimes, secretly and silently observing the boy during his contracts. It never ceases to intrigue him, because even after three months, even after he has done enough to be promoted to Eliminator, Alor _still_ doesn't seem like a killer. So he waits, watches him tenderly smother the life out of some ill-fated person and wonders why he can't get his head around the paradox. It still irritates a part of him that Banus doesn't just _get on_ with it, kill the target and leave; but at the same time, there is something about the time and effort the mer puts into how his victims will be found that he finds utterly fascinating.

The problem with such a slow and laborious process, however, is that one soon gets caught.

He isn't supposed to intervene. Banus doesn't even know he's _there_, and he's supposed to let the assassin fend for himself instead of risking his own safety. But then, it isn't a guard – it's a friend of the already-deceased Skooma dealer, woken by the muffled cries and armoured with a wickedly sharp claymore. Even though he never uses it, Banus still carries his dagger, but it's no match against a weapon like that.

Alval watches from the shadows unsurely. He isn't supposed to step in, no matter how cornered his associate is. That is the harsh, unapologetic way of the Brotherhood, and yet – and yet it isn't a guard, nor is one nearby, so he won't incur a bounty. It may be a rule but it isn't _actually_ one of the five tenets, and no-one _actually_ needs to know he helped Banus just this once, and-

There is a strangled cry from the voice he knows so well, and Alor is pinned to the wall with brutal hands clamped around his slender throat. The claymore is stained with red, so is Banus' side, and Uvani stops thinking, just acts. One shock spell and the attacker flies back, crumples into a heap on the floor – still twitching, still convulsing, already dead.

Banus, several shades paler than usual, looks at the still chameleon-shrouded form before him, realises who came to his aid, who has been there the entire time. He gives a weak, strained smile.

Then collapses.

And never does hear Uvani's panicked cry.


	4. Chapter 4

Aw, c'mon. It wasn't _that_ much of a cliffhanger.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter four

Banus doesn't remember much from the last time he was conscious, but he's fairly certain he _didn't_ fall asleep in someone else's bed.

Especially if that someone is the red-haired Dunmer he knows so well, scowling down at him even moreso than usual, though if he is not mistaken there is also a hint of worry in the narrowed crimson eyes. Uvani's frown tightens when he sees the other awake, and he says but one short, sharp word:

"_Idiot._"

Ah. He remembers now.

"You were there the whole time, Uvani?" he murmurs softly.

"You're damned lucky I was," he barks in reply, so stern and aggressive, so utterly the opposite of Banus, "If I hadn't stepped in, you would be dead by now. Why do you have to be so – so – _stupid?_"

He tilts his head, puzzled. He isn't sure what he's done _wrong_, precisely, because he was just following the same method he always uses; he didn't do anything in particular to attract the intervener's attention, it was just a case of poor luck. But Uvani apparently feels the need to explain:

"If you hadn't stuck around – if you had just _left_ instead of dithering about – this could all have been avoided, you understand?" He's seen Uvani angry before, but this is different, born not of hatred but frustration and irritation and a concern he knows the older would never admit to. "Why can't you just kill them and go like a normal assassin?"

"There's no such thing as a normal assassin-"

"Shut _up_," Uvani snaps, evidently not at all happy that Banus is suppressing a grin instead of taking this seriously, "Why are you smiling? You could have been killed. You _would_ have been killed if I hadn't intervened."

"But you did," Banus points out, "So...thank you. That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

"I don't _want_ a thank you!" the mer almost shouts, fuming, "I _want_ you to be more careful in future! Why are you so casual? He was going to kill you for Oblivion's sake! One second later and you would have died-"

"So?"

Uvani pauses in his tirade, and just _stares_ at him, as though he can't believe what he has just heard: "What did you just say?" he asks slowly.

"So what if I had died?" the other shrugs, though through the nonchalance he's watching Uvani's reaction very, very carefully, "Would it have mattered?"

Alval says nothing at first. Just looks at him with a tensed jaw and eyes dark with anger; his hands, Banus notices from the corner of his eye, have curled into fists.

"Do you," he says at last, in a low, gravelly voice that is somehow more frightening than his earlier yell, "Have a death wish, Alor?"

He's certain the words would have most people cowering. He can appreciate how intimidating the Executioner looks now, one step away from setting Banus on fire – but he's never really been _scared_ of anything in his life, and he can't say he's scared of Uvani either. So he looks the other Dark Elf straight in the eye and says in an unwavering, unflinching tone: "Not particularly no."

"Then why would you say such a thing?" Alval demands, ferocity barely restrained, "Disregarding your own life...do you actually _want_ to die? Are you suicidal, is that it?"

"Of course not," Banus says, pulling himself upright on the bed. And he speaks the truth, because he's never felt any burning desire to take his own life. Certainly, he's contemplated the thought, but not _considered_ it – merely viewing it philosophically, as he is doing now. "I never said I wanted to die. I just asked if it would matter."

Uvani gives him a look that quite clearly says _I don't understand_, so he elaborates as best as he can: "Well, if I had died, what difference would it have made? The Brotherhood would barely notice my absence; and since I had already killed the target, they wouldn't have even needed to send out another assassin. It wouldn't have mattered," he twiddles his thumbs, tone so casual he could be discussing the weather, completely at odds with the grim subject matter, "Nor to the rest of the world. I have no family or other ties – I don't get close to people, so they don't get close to me. Even if someone I had known years back somehow heard of my death, they would barely blink, let alone mourn. They probably wouldn't even remember my name," he shrugs again, not steeped in self-pity but merely stating the facts: "No-one would miss me."

There's a glimmer of something in Uvani's eyes – there and gone like a passing shadow, just a spilt-second – but he sees it, and he knows what it means.

_I'd miss you._

But Uvani doesn't say it. Oh, he wants to, that much is obvious. But pride and a reluctance to express any form of compassion hold him back. Banus watches neutrally; he wants to hear it, but doesn't expect anything, not this early into their friendship. Of course, most people wouldn't class three months in as 'early', but this is Alval Uvani. Going by what he has seen and heard from the other sanctuary members, he is exceptionally privileged to be as close to the Dark Elf as he already is.

"I-" Alval starts, then stops hesitantly, "I'd-"

"Yes?" he murmurs softly, coaxingly.

"I would-" stops again. Starts again. "I would..."

It looks almost painful for him to say, such an intense reaction for a few trivial words. It might even be funny if the sentiment wasn't so tender, and he eventually decides to make it easier on him: "Would you miss me, Uvani?"

The mer swallows, looks away, then gives a single stoic nod.

Banus smiles. _That will do._

"Thank you," he says, adding almost shyly, "For saving me. For taking care of me too. I've never really had anyone to look out for me before."

Uvani mutters something in reply, so quiet that, had Alor been anything but an Elf, he would not have heard it: "I don't want a thank you. I want-"

"-Me to be careful?" Banus guesses with a smile; it sounds much sweeter when it isn't being shouted, "I'll try. But you know I can't just kill and leave. I'm not like the other assassins."

"No," Uvani agrees, and they both know he isn't just talking about his killing style, "You're not."

A silence falls between them, Alval still looking away while Alor tentatively examines his bandaged torso. It's not the tidiest patch-up, but at least very thorough, and he can smell the liberal application of healing potion beneath the dressing. It makes him happy, knowing the elder went to all that trouble for him; it almost makes the lingering pain of the wound worth it.

"You know," Uvani speaks, to Banus' surprise, as he's not normally the one to initiate conversation, "There are other ways to kill someone that won't leave marks, not just smothering. Poisons and such."

"But making a poison that leaves no trace requires a good knowledge of Alchemy," he is reminded, "And I don't know anything about it. I could learn, but it would take time. I couldn't exactly buy my supply either." Finding a reliable and trustworthy source for strong poisons was not an easy task – and the few black-market merchants who _did_ have such a supply wouldn't part with it for cheap. It was generally wiser to brew your own poisons anyway, since then you knew precisely what had gone into them and what effect they would have on the drinker.

"Well what if..." the Executioner is holding _something_ back, but Banus suspects any intervention will result in a '...never mind', so he stays quiet. Instead he waits patiently for the few minutes it takes Uvani to stop hesitating and just say it: "What if I taught you some Destruction magic? A few basic spells, in case you end up in another fix."

Alor tilts his head to one side, "But doesn't Destruction magic leave burns?"

"Fire, frost and shock, yes. Drain doesn't, though," the other Elf tells him, "You can drain a person's health, energy, magicka, even their skill with a weapon. With enough practise you could render someone completely useless with a single spell. And it leaves no marks," he meets Banus' eyes at last, since he has until now been staring at the wall, the floor, his clenched hands, anything but his would-be-protégé. "Useful to know, at least until you become more proficient at Alchemy. So, do you want me to teach you or not?"

Alor smiles graciously, but it only betrays a fraction of how truly _happy_ he is right now. Uvani does not speak his friendship but shows it – inviting him out to eat, shadowing him to make sure his contracts go smoothly and carrying him back to Leyawiin – on foot, he doesn't own a horse – when they don't. Dressing his wounds and keeping him in the luxurious privacy of his room, even though there's only one bed; he has to wonder where Alval has slept, beside him or on the floor, a small, giddy part of him hoping it's the former. And now he offers to teach the younger, which is far, _far_ better than the 'I'd miss you' he couldn't say earlier, because Banus _knows_ Uvani has never offered to mentor anyone before. He'll never get this opportunity again if he refuses, but of course he doesn't even consider refusing, not for a second.

"Of course," he says with all that joy somehow contained into a small smile, "I would love to."

* * *

"Stand up straighter."

He struggles to comply, but the three hours of practise is starting to wear on him. Uvani, he has discovered, doesn't do anything by halves, and that includes teaching – as with everything else he is blunt, impatient and _very _quick to point out when Banus is doing something wrong. It makes for a thorough but decidedly merciless tutor.

"_Straighter_, I said. Here-" a hand on his back forces his spine ruler-straight, to the protest of the still-healing wound at his side. He winces, Uvani notices, and he hopes the elder will sympathise and let him rest awhile. Unfortunately, Uvani doesn't _do_ sympathy, so Alor finds his back made even more inflexibly vertical, his shoulder pushed back into the very picture of good posture. He probably looks good – he's standing like Uvani, he _must_ look good – but a part of him wishes he'd saved the lessons until after his recovery.

"Uvani," he says, a hint of tiredness creeping into his voice after so long spent on his feet, "How will standing up straight help? I thought using magic was about the mind, not the body."

"One benefits from the other," he is told, "Adjusting your stance will get you into the mindset of spell-casting, and help you focus your will."

"But we've been trying for three hours and nothing has happened," he looks at the wooden training target in front of him, scorched and scratched from prior use, and _really does try_ to cast a drain spell at it. There's not even a flicker of magic. "See? Nothing."

"That's because you slouched again. Also, _squinting_ at the target will not help, you just look as though you have poor eyesight."

"I-" he pauses, then sighs. He is weary, his side hurts, and he isn't in the mood for another three hours of failure, "I don't think I'm cut out for Destruction magic. I just can't seem to get the hang of it."

Uvani frowns; "How do expect to achieve anything with that attitude? Of course you'll get the hang of it. You just need to focus."

"Will you two shut up?" another assassin interrupts from across the training room, he and his sparring partner glaring at them, "Some of us are trying to get some actual work done."

Banus glances away uncomfortably, but Uvani out-scowls them both and replies in his sharpest voice: "Much as you _need_ the practise, this facility is for more than your pathetic attempt at training. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to teach the one person who _isn't_ an utter waste of sanctuary resources," he smirks at their rather stunned expressions, "Aw, did I hurt your feelings? Say, why don't you go whinge to the sanctuary Master about it, let him fight your battles for you. I'm sure you used to doing that by now."

The bolder of the two assassins gives an ugly snarl, but he can't fight Uvani – even if it didn't invoke the Wrath of Sithis, he knows as well as the smug Executioner that he wouldn't stand a chance. Instead he storms towards the exit, and Banus quite clearly hears him mutter to his following partner: "Fetching bastard. Leave him and the other idiot, we'll come back later."

"Didn't Banus used to be on our side? Why is he_ his_ best friend all of a sudden?"

"Pfft, Uvani's probably fucking him or something."

"Hey," he hears murmured right into his ear, and realises Uvani is speaking to him, "Remember that drain fatigue spell I explained to you?"

He nods, knowing exactly what the Dunmer wants him to do. And somehow, it's easy – the target is _there_, right in front of him with retreating backs and vindictive laughter, not a painted circle on a lifeless wooden board. When he subconsciously straightens up, the Magicka comes so naturally it seems he's done it a thousand times before, whispering and weaving around him, warming his fingertips as he raises his hand. And the resulting visual display isn't big and bold like a fire spell, just a subdued glimmer of orange-red, but the two assassin barely manage a yelp before they immediately crumple to the floor.

"See," Uvani nods approvingly while Banus stares at his hand and marvels at what just happened, "I told you you could do it."


	5. Chapter 5

Some plotline! At last!

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter five

Less than a month after this, Uvani receives a sealed letter from the Speaker.

The message itself gives precious little away beyond a location, a designated time, and orders to reveal neither to the rest of the sanctuary. He hasn't a clue what Speaker wants to discuss – not with such secrecy and formality – but obeys, departing Leyawiin in the dead of night when all other assassins are asleep or absent.

He finds the long-abandoned lodge not far from the city, rusting sign swaying gently in the breeze, matching the description in the note. The door is locked tight, but the second-storey window has been left open a fraction of an inch, the only clue to the presence of a person inside. Keeping an eye out for patrolling legionnaires, he hoists himself up the rickety exterior of the building, pushing the window fully open and climbing inside.

He trespasses over creaking floorboards, avoids the cobwebs, and grimaces when the door handle leaves a coating of dust on his fingers. The lodge is so silent, so stagnant that he wonders if he's in the wrong place, but then he turns the corner and sees the black-robed man awaiting him.

"Uvani," the Speaker greets pleasantly, gesturing to the empty chair beside him, "Have a seat."

He does so, albeit unsurely, because they both know he wasn't invited here for a chat. Thankfully Speaker knows how Uvani works – and _accepts_ it instead of being irked by it like the others – thus he skips the small talk and gets straight to the point:

"You have served the Brotherhood for a number of years," he tells him, "And completed all your contracts with unwavering efficiency. As such, you are due for a promotion."

"Promotion?" Alval repeats, puzzled. After all, he is already the highest rank attainable in the sanctuary – the next step up is the Black Hand itself. "I'm becoming...a Speaker?"

"Not quite," the man corrects, "Unknown to most, the Black Hand contains a few..._unofficial_ members; to each Speaker, a personal assassin. Though in the interests of secrecy, you would still be known as Executioner to the rest of the sanctuary."

He frowns; "Then what's the difference?"

"High-end contracts, therefore more money. Also, one must _serve_ a Speaker before they can become one. So it has always been," he nods sagely, "You will, at this stage, have no say in the decisions of the Black Hand. But your performance will affect my bearing – hence why only the most capable of assassins are entrusted with such a position."

_The most capable assassins._ If only those sanctuary idiots could hear this...he could almost imagine the sweet seething envy on their faces. They accuse him of arrogance, but the superiority of his abilities is _fact_, not opinion, and this is the sheer proof of that. Unfortunately, the 'interests of secrecy' means his one opportunity to legitimately gloat is forbidden. A shame.

"However," the Speaker continued, though Uvani had thought the conversation was over, "There is a task you must perform, before ascending in rank."

"Which is...?"

"You are essentially being initiated into the inner circle of the Brotherhood," he explained, "Therefore, a test of loyalty is required. Of skill too, of course – but mostly your ability to put the Brotherhood before your own wants and needs." he leans back in his chair, and with the murky dusklight filtering through the shuttered windows, Uvani can just make out his sombre expression. "Oftenmost, this entails turning on the people you call family. Not only does this prove your commitment to orders, but also weeds out the weaker and less useful members of the organisation."

"You mean I have to get rid of a few of those idiots?" Uvani snorts, unimpressed, "Fine by me. I could be doing without them anyway."

"Alas, the Black Hand is already aware of that. This is a challenge of _loyalty_, Uvani," he is quietly reminded, "And there is only one person in the sanctuary you would hesitate to murder."

Something inside him goes very, very cold.

"You want me to kill Banus."

Speaker inclines his head; "That, they feel, is the most suitable trial."

He doesn't know what to say, what to think, how to react. His gaze drops down to the dust-laden floor, watching but not-watching a spider inch across the aged woodwork. He has to kill Banus. The one person he has come to respect, even _like_, and he must end his life.

"But."

He immediately looks up.

"There may be a way around it."

"How?" he asks at once, barely allowing Speaker to finish his sentence.

"It took a great deal of persuasion on my behalf," spoke the black-robed man, "But I convinced them that Alor, being one of our more competent assassins, was too valuable to sacrifice to a test. He is, in the eyes of the Black Hand, still quite expendable, but they have agreed to give him a chance."

"A chance?"

"A test. A contract, to be exact, to kill an accomplished mage."

Alval frowns, "That doesn't sound like an Eliminator-level task."

"It isn't. Better suited to an Executioner, actually. But if he can defeat the odds and successfully take down the target, the Listener has agreed to spare his life, and you will be given a different trial."

"But hold on," Uvani points out, frown only deepening, "What if he fails? He would die at the hands of the target, and a new trial would be required anyway."

"A hidden Speaker will be watching. Not me, before you ask; a non-biased party," the other replies, "If Banus fails, they will step in, eliminating the target if necessary. He will then be taken elsewhere to recover, and you will be required to kill him."

"Is-" he hesitates, reluctant to say it. He recalls promising himself, once upon a time, that he wasn't going to befriend Banus – because he didn't need friends, didn't need _anyone_. Assassins weren't supposed to form emotional attachments for this very reason, because the person that they had grown fond of could be their next target. But he had never thought he would be called upon to kill _Banus_... "Is there no other way?"

He knows Speaker will shake his head, but it still stings when he does: "The word of the Black Hand is final. The only thing you can do is hope he completes the contract, or you'll have to fulfil your orders," the Dunmer can feel the weight of the man's stare, "And you know those orders cannot be refused, Uvani."

"...I understand," he says quietly, so quietly even he can barely hear the words, "Is there anything else, Speaker?"

"No. You may return to the sanctuary. Oh, and-" he adds as Uvani wordlessly rises from his chair, "I needn't tell you, you are not to reveal any of this to Banus Alor. If you try to warn, prepare, or assist him in _any_ way, the chance to prove his worth will be removed. And I can assure you, however subtly you go about it, the watching Speaker _will_ know if he has had help."

"Understood," Alval replies stiffly. Giving a curt nod, he leaves the building as he entered, and begins the deliberately-slow walk back to Leyawiin, more troubled than ever.

* * *

The next day he sits in his room, still brooding, when there is a knock at the door.

"Uvani?" he recognises the voice before the door opens, and Banus peers around, "Do you have any spare bandages?"

"Bandages? Should do, why?"

"New contract," the other Elf answers, and Uvani feels but does not show the spike of ice-cold dread in his veins, "It looks straight-forward enough, but I haven't been given any details on the target. I thought I should re-bandage my side, just in case."

"Let me check," he makes a show of rummaging through his crate of healing items, something a practitioner in Destruction magic soon learns to keep handy. Of course he has plenty of bandages, as he never lets his supply run low, but a little something reminds him he cannot assist Banus, and this probably counts. "No, I'm all out. You'll have to do without them."

"Oh, never mind. I'm sure I'll be fine," and Uvani feels downright _nauseous_ then, because he knows that really, really isn't going to be the case. Not only is the target far beyond Banus' current fighting ability, but the assassin is also still recovering from the Skooma dealer contract-gone-awry. With a severe lack of Restoration mages in the Brotherhood, Alor is relying on the body's natural healing process, leaving a tender scar at his side; if it re-opens, Banus will be even _further_ disadvantaged.

And on top of all that, there is the Eliminator's reluctance to physically mark his opponents, a personal hindrance that may just cost him his life. Granted, his proficiency in drain spells has improved, but it isn't enough to take down a spell-caster, someone who probably boasts a fair amount of magical resistance anyway. Mages are best taken out by getting up close and personal; he desperately wants to tell Banus to use his dagger, taint the blade with the best silence or magicka-damaging poison he can craft, but to help him would be to condemn the boy to death.

Banus moves to leave, but pauses when he sees the other's deep-set frown, the uneasy look in his eyes very few have come to recognise. "Uvani?" he asks, stepping back into the room, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," Uvani replies even though he really isn't, and that fact is so obvious that Alor doesn't believe him for a second. "I'm _fine_," he insists when the mer approaches him, rising from his chair because he feels the need to keep his distance, "I'd rather be left alone- ow," in his haste, he scrapes his wrist against a protruding chest of drawers, and cannot contain his wince.

"Are you alright?" Banus is by his side quicker than he can react to, hands extended, "Here, let me see."

"Don't-" he starts, but not before the boy has taken hold of his wrist.

This is, he realises, the first time they've properly touched. Excluding carrying Alor back to Leyawiin, tending to his injuries and later teaching him to stand up straight – but he had always been wearing gloves, or Banus had been wearing clothes, or there had been _some_ sort of material barrier between them that made it socially acceptable. But this is skin-on-skin, and his entire body tenses, because it isn't a feeling he's at all used to.

"That'll bruise," the young Dunmer murmurs, turning Alval's wrist carefully to examine it. If he isn't accustomed to being touched, being treated like glass is _definitely_ a foreign experience. It isn't unpleasant, but so utterly alien that he immediately pulls his wrist away and steps back.

The Eliminator notices, of course: "Oh, did I hurt you?"

Uvani shakes his head wordlessly. In actuality, no-one's ever – _ever_ – touched him so gently before, though of course he doesn't tell Banus that. He can't _afford_ this kind of tenderness now, not when the saintly, softly-spoken boy before him could end up being his next kill.

"Banus-" he starts, motivated by the overwhelming desire to get away, get the other away, or some variation on the two of them being apart, "-I need to practise my magic for a while. Don't you have a contract to see to?" Sithis, but that feels as though he's sending the boy to his doom. The chance of Banus' success is slim to none, but it's also the only chance he has. So he watches him nod and utter a quiet farewell before leaving, doesn't say a word but behind his back his wrist still tingles with Alor's touch, and his fist is clenched so tightly that his nails are cutting bloody crescents into his palms.

He can only hope that the next time he sees Banus, it won't be as an assassin and his target.


	6. Chapter 6

Behold, one long action sequence!

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter six

The Welkynd stones bathe him in cold blue light as he passes, casting an unnaturally long shadow that follows him like a predator. There _is_ something about the place that makes him feel insignificant and inferior, trespassing through ruins once inhabited by a race so powerful they rivalled the gods themselves.

But however small he feels, he cannot leave yet. He has a contract to fulfil.

He has been told very little about the target, beyond the name and location. That bothers him somewhat, because _not knowing_ is an invitation for danger; his prior contract to kill the Skooma dealer, for example, made no mention of said dealer having a bodyguard. A piece of information – or lack thereof – that very nearly cost him his life, had Uvani not stepped in. Stalker-like tendencies are considered by most a bad thing, but Banus is thankful and truthfully rather flattered that Alval frequently chooses to follow him unseen. It's much like having a guardian angel, though he is undoubtedly the grouchiest angel that ever existed.

But speaking of Uvani...he wonders what is on the Dark Elf's mind, to make him look so forlorn and tense. Granted, Uvani is rarely seen to smile, and to any other he probably looked his usual, serious self – but there is a difference, however slight, between 'serious' and 'worried', which Banus has learned to spot.

He thinks a present might help, and glances thoughtfully at the numerous Welkynd stones; he recalls them having some magical value, so perhaps Uvani would appreciate two or three brought back for him. But they are quite high up...he tries climbing a pillar to reach one, but his hands scrabble uselessly against the smooth, featureless stone, and he lands painfully on the floor.

A sound catches his ears then, a soft and near-silent...laugh? But when he turns to see who else is there, the room is empty. He might be more suspicious, but the noise was so faint that it may have never been there at all. He puts it down to imagination, and continues on his way.

Venturing deeper into the ruins, he notices a few of the stones are missing – not fallen, as nothing lies on the floor, but physically taken from their holders. It could be down to pillaging bandits, but he notices that the further he gets, the more are absent, until only one or two remain out of pure necessity for the light they provide. But the only way to obtain them would be with a telekinesis spell...

And it becomes obvious: he is dealing with a mage.

That isn't good. You can't smother a mage; they had no need to try and push you away when they could send a shock spell directly into your veins. His dagger is, as always, at his hip, but it remains a last resort if his repertoire of drain spells fails. He still detests the sticky, scarlet sight of blood even if it is an absolute necessity.

When he finally comes to a door, left slightly ajar and with the sickly-sweet smell of various Alchemy ingredients drifting through, he drops down to a stealthy crouch. The waning candlelight is a warm, flickering orange that, unlike the wash of blue from the Welkynd stones, creates nooks and crannies of darkness to hide in. Up ahead, the mage stoops over his Alchemy table, pouring liquid into liquid while a nearby calcinator cooks what's left of a flower, its blackened petals curling inwards in the very mimicry of death. His target, it seems, is currently ignorant of the world around him – potion-making does that to a person – and so Banus is able to approach without detection; he straightens up, summons the best drain health spell he has available to him, and hopes it will be enough for an instant kill.

Unfortunately, it is not.

The mage snaps upright and alert, whips around to see his attacker – and Banus, just a fraction faster, manages to hide himself against the wall. He suppresses a sigh when he sees the faint glow of a Restoration spell, because anything that can heal itself is twice as troublesome. For now, his advantage lies in remaining unseen.

"Who's there?" the mage asks sharply, eyes narrowed. Banus doesn't say anything, and after a few minutes of silence his target relaxes in resignation. Seizing the opportunity, he moves.

He shouldn't have moved.

The mage, as it turns out, has not only decidedly good hearing, but also happens to know a thing or two about Illusion magic; he finds himself temporarily blinded with the intensity of the light spell thrown his way, and is so preoccupied with stumbling back that he barely hears the man's triumphant exclamation. He can't fight like this – he can't _see_ like this – so he drops and dodges out of the way, back into the safety of the darkness.

"An assassin, hm?" he hears from somewhere, but he's still trying to blink his vision back into existence, so he hasn't a clue where the mage is stood, "I figured one would come along eventually. Expected someone older, though. You planning to kill me, boy?"

He doesn't answer, knowing the mage will use his voice to seek him out again. Instead he slowly descends to the floor, soundlessly picks up a stray pebble between his fingers – and with the swift flick of his wrist, sends it skittering across the floor.

The distraction works, and while the mage is turned away, Alor lunges with a new tactic in mind. He tackles the other to the cold stone floor, hand hissing with orange-red as he splays it flat against the robed chest and drains all of the Magicka he can. His efforts, however, only earn him a quiet snort of 'barely _touched_ me...' before the man grabs both his wrists and sends a screaming ice-fire through his nerves that very nearly kills him on the spot.

He breaks free, pulls back with less control over his balance than he would have liked. Something in him whispers _stand up straighter_, and he does so, throwing another drain health spell his target's way before he can evade it. It sends the mage reeling, but only for a few seconds.

"Low-level spells," he murmurs, observing Banus in the temporary respite between them, "But you stand like an expert. You're not self-taught, are you?"

He gives no reply – partially because he doesn't make a habit of talking to the people he's about to kill, but also because his mind is too swarmed with pain to form a coherent sentence right now. His only clear, concise thought at the moment is that this contract was intended for someone of considerably higher rank and skill.

"Not very talkative, are you? I suppose I shouldn't expect that of an assassin," the mage says, still watching him like a hawk, "Shouldn't expect common courtesy either. I'll have to start that potion again from scratch, you know."

Dimly, Banus wonders why the man is holding a conversation with him; the thought that it might be a form of distraction does not occur to him until an unquestionably lethal ice spell is hurtling towards his chest. Pure reflex allows him to dodge it, but the radius of the spell still sends a spike of cold into his side. There's an overwhelming wave of nausea, and the fact that his counter-spell actually _hits_ the mage is down to luck, not accuracy, but it buys him enough time to go skidding back into being unseen. He has to stifle his breaths, ragged and hoarse as they are, but his Destruction magic seems to be actually winning him the fight, since he can feel the wet, warm residue of the mage's blood on his clothes.

Something then quietly reminds him that drain spells leave no marks.

He glances down, and though he can make out no stain on his dark clothing, he doesn't really need to _see_ the damage to _feel_ it. Evidently the claymore wound has re-opened, and with this knowledge the pain seems to catch up with him – the only thing that stops him from gasping aloud is the certainty that the spellcaster will find him, and finish him.

_This task wasn't meant for an Eliminator._ It's so obvious now. So blindingly, sickeningly obvious. And a part of him is convinced the mix-up is deliberate, because the Brotherhood could never be so negligent and careless; he was given _no_ information about this man, especially not his aptitude at magic. But he doesn't understand why he would be subjected to such a task when he has shown nothing but loyalty and dedication to the people he calls – _called_ – family.

"Assassin," the mage calls out, stalking the room with a vicious shock spell at the ready, "Where did you disappear to?"

But he's tired, Banus notices. There is a certain slowness to his movements that comes with weariness, meaning the assault of drain spells has done the trick, and he's saving his Magicka to kill Banus rather than heal himself – a few more attacks should be enough. But casting any spells from afar will give away his position, and that shock spell will undoubtedly mean his end.

Or he can run up and surprise him, _but_ – he looks again at the injury in his side – it may just hurt _him_ as much as it does the mage. But faced with certain death or possible death, the choice isn't that difficult.

As soon as the man looks away, he strikes, weaving through the shadows with the swiftness of a wildfire, and a roughly equivalent sensation coursing through one side of his body. The mage turns, sees the crimson-soaked assassin, and tries to utter his spell, but Banus plants one hand over his mouth and with the other mercilessly drives his magic into the sorcerer's chest, again and again and again...he doesn't stop, not until there are no more struggles, and he is holding a corpse.

And then...silence.

There's blood everywhere. It's not that he detests the colour, because he likes plenty of red things, like strawberries and sunsets and Uvani's eyes. But blood is supposed to be _inside_ people, not out, so it definitely shouldn't be all over the floor. But then, the blood doesn't belong to the mage, it belongs to..._someone_, but he can't quite recall who, because everything's a bit fuzzy at the moment. His side feels oddly warm but he can't think why, and- wasn't he standing up a minute ago?

_You're going to die in here._

The thought should be terrifying, but he can't bring himself to care. It doesn't matter anyway – if he dies, that is. There's no-one to mourn him. No-one to miss him.

_Except...one..._

And he realises, with a sudden surge of pain and passion and _life_, that he _can't_ die, because he still needs to give Uvani those Welkynd stones he hasn't yet found. Needs to hand them over and see if he can touch his fingertips, because he still remembers grasping the elder's wrist earlier, their first skin-on-skin contact, and he doesn't want it to be their _last_. And maybe...maybe this time he won't...pull away...

"Poor boy," he hears sighed from somewhere distant, and it sounds like the same voice that laughed earlier, but wasn't that just his imagination? "And you tried so hard as well."

Opening his eyes is far more difficult than it should be, and for all that effort he can't see anything beyond blurs of colour and motion. He can just make out a vague shadowy figure in front of him, no distinguishable features, but who else would follow him in secret, watch over him and come to his aid? He tries reaching out for it, hands brushing some of the warm, cloak-like material – and beyond that, a face just a little too soft and rounded to belong to a certain Executioner.

"Who?" he whispers, if it can even be called that.

The answering laugh is female, but he's unconscious before he gets the chance to hear it.


	7. Chapter 7

Time to end that cliffhanger, you think? Interestingly, the female Speaker was originally going be an OC – the Speaker of Cheydinhal before Lucien, in fact. But then I realised I didn't have to put an OC in the story, when there was a perfectly suitable game character already there.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter seven

When the Speaker next enters his room, he already knows from the man's expression what the answer to his question will be.

But still he asks, hoping, for the first time in his life, that he is wrong: "Did Banus...?"

Speaker's face is a solemn, stony mask, so unreadable that he can interpret exactly what it means: "Come with me."

They walk wordlessly out of the sanctuary, out of the ghostly-quiet Leyawiin and back to the abandoned lodge where his trial began, and where it will end. Speaker doesn't say a thing, but he doesn't need to; if Banus had succeeded, _he_ would have been the one to enter Uvani's room, no doubt regaling him with an account of his latest and deadliest contract. The walk to the lodge seems like the longest journey he's ever made, but when they finally reach the building, it feels as though everything's happening too soon. Speaker procures a key to let them through the front door, and locks it again behind them. No escape. No running away from the task that awaits him.

He's led to another door, and at last spoken to: "He's through there. The watching Speaker healed most of his injuries, but he's still unconscious. You needn't even wake him up."

_As if that's a comfort._ But he says nothing.

"Uvani?"

Nothing.

"I'm sorry."

"No," Uvani corrects him quietly, "You're not. The Black Hand has neither regret nor remorse for its actions."

"So it has always been," the Speaker replies just as hushed, echoing their last meeting. This is the way of the Dark Brotherhood: harsh, merciless, and unapologetic. Everything that Uvani is. Everything that Banus is not.

He enters the doorway, hearing it shut behind him with a soft click. Before him is what was once a bedroom, though now grey and aged, dust not so much drifting but _stationary_ in the air, like suspended snowfall. And on a bed withered by the years, so young and vivid and _unlike_ the dead environment, is the boy whose life he is about to take.

Banus means a great deal to him, probably more than anyone he has ever met. But looking at it logically – reason without emotion, as an assassin should think – choosing between Banus and the Brotherhood is not difficult. Only one can offer him a home, a lifestyle, a network of contacts for whatever he may need. Only one can offer him a career as an assassin, without which he is no more than a murderer with an array of Destruction spells. Useful for killing people, but little else.

He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking with his weight – and, as if he senses his presence, Banus wakes. How pretty his Dunmer-red eyes look, framed by the long, dark lashes that Uvani never really paid attention to before. And how smooth his dusky skin is, unmarked by age or hardship, a few shades darker and bluer than Alval's. Many people claim all Dark Elves look the same, but Uvani can see the differences between them as clearly as night and day.

"Uvani...?" Banus asks, struggling to see in the darkness, "Is that you?"

A part of him wants to remain silent, wants Alor to go back to sleep, because a conversation will make this all the harder on him. On the other hand, he can't bring himself to kill the boy without hearing his voice one last time, without seeing his smile so serene and otherworldly that it belongs on nothing less than a saint.

"It's me," he replies at last, forcing any emotion out of his voice, "Don't sit up...you'll aggravate your wounds."

"So you were the one watching...did you save me again, Uvani?" Banus murmurs, and Uvani hasn't the resolve to tell him no, "That's the second time you've rescued me. I've never had a guardian angel before."

He shifts uncomfortably and glances away – he's been called many things, but an angel isn't one them. Truthfully he prefers the insults, because he can shrug them off without a second thought, but this is something else entirely. "Banus-" he begins,

And at the curious fingertips that brush his jaw, freezes at once.

"Sorry," Alor whispers, but makes absolutely no move to take his fingers away, "I've been waiting to touch your skin again. Your wrist..." he doesn't finish the sentence, just gazes at Uvani with a peculiar, quiet enthrallment. His pupils are dilated, Alval notices, comes to the conclusion that Banus, in his semi-conscious state, has very little control over what is currently being said.

"You know," Banus continues, with just enough slowness to his words to convince Uvani that the younger doesn't realise what he's saying, "I really do like you, Uvani..."

"Banus," he interrupts firmly, taking hold of the boy's hands as they trail down to his neck, "You're injured, and you need rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."

It almost breaks him to say that, because there isn't going to _be_ a tomorrow. But Banus, trusting and innocent, nods sleepily and relaxes onto the bed, oblivious to the fact that he is not in the sanctuary. Within minutes his breathing has evened out to that of slumber, and Uvani knows what must be done.

It is far better, he continuously reminds himself, that Banus dies _here_ than at the hands of another, like the mage – who, going by all the dried blood Uvani can see on Alor's clothes, put up a vicious fight. But Uvani can end this quickly and painlessly, a mercy he has never shown his other victims; he much prefers the spectacular kills of fire, frost and shock. Instead, he readies the drain spell that will leave no marks, vermilion twirling around his fingers as he lifts his hand, and-

"Uvani."

-Stops. Standing in the doorway is Speaker, still cool and calm, giving nothing away. And next to him is a woman he's never seen before, much taller than her counterpart, almost towering over him; though the hood of her robe conceals most of her features, he can just make out the golden sheen to her skin, and her lips, curved into a faint smile.

"Speaker...?" Uvani says, though he isn't sure which question to ask first.

And Speaker, who has the annoying habit of not answering questions directly, merely replies: "Your task is complete. Follow me."

He glances back at Banus, who is still very much alive – but Speaker has already started walking away, so he follows. The woman, on the other hand, steps _into_ the room, passing Uvani as she approaches the sleeping Elf; as he turns to look, he sees her lift him from the bed with relatively little effort.

He does not wait for Speaker to stop walking before demanding to know: "Who is that woman? Where is she taking Banus?"

"Back to Leyawiin," the man tells him without a pauses in his stride, "And she is Speaker Arquen, of the Kvatch sanctuary. She was the one observing Banus, and the one he owes his clemency to."

"So I don't have to kill him?" Speaker shakes his head, "Does that mean he passed his trial?"

"Technically, no. He would have died of his injuries without Arquen's intervention," he is told, "However, she noted that most of the blood loss was not caused by the target, but an old wound that was re-opened during the fight." The claymore injury, then. He feels a twinge of guilt for not giving Alor fresh bandages, but reminds himself that he was forbidden from helping him in any way; "Also, he _did_ kill the target and complete the contract, but at what would have been the cost of his own life. The Black Hand were pleasantly surprised at his dedication, and have decided to spare him."

He can't help but feel angry: he has been strung along, played like a puppet by his supposed 'family', "Then why was I led to believe he had failed?"

"So that you could also prove your worth," Speaker shrugs, no apology in his tone, true to the methods of the Brotherhood, "There was no need to inform you when we could proceed to test your loyalty, and intervene before anything occurred. Arquen and I stepped in when we saw that you would keep to your mission, and there was no unnecessary bloodshed."

"Beyond Banus' injuries, of course."

"He will be rewarded for his efforts."

"What do you mean?"

"Speaker Arquen was rather impressed with his performance. She praised his tactical approach in particular, and his use of Destruction magic," _that you taught him_, he can see in Speaker's secretive little smile, but the man does not voice this, "She mentioned a few reckless mistakes, but a great deal of potential. Enough to convince the Black Hand that an advancement is in order."

One minute they want him dead and the next they want him promoted...the Black Hand, it seems, enjoys keeping everyone on their toes.

"I expect Banus already knows that this was no regular contract," Speaker continues, "You're not to reveal anything, of course-"

"-In the interests of secrecy?" Uvani guesses with a grimace. He has always preferred blunt honesty or blunt denial, not these intricate little half-truths that seem to do more harm than help. He also doesn't like manipulating Banus, but that's another issue.

"That...and the interests of peacekeeping. Most people don't take too kindly to being used as a pawn," the man answers, chuckling, and Uvani doesn't see what's so funny, but Speaker often looks amused for no apparent reason, so he doesn't read into it that much, "I'll tell Banus that the contract was a skill assessment, which he passed, sending him to the rank of Assassin."

"And of my promotion?"

He shrugs; "There will be no great change. Some Speakers devise creative means of giving their assassins contracts, but given how often I visit the sanctuary, it's easier just to inform you of the details in person. Over time, I will teach you the duties of a Speaker, so that you might one day succeed me."

"Why not teach me them straight away?"

Speaker raises an eyebrow; "I did that with my last protégé, then he went and died. Explaining the same thing over and over gets very boring, you know."

He's almost offended at the insinuation, "I'm not _incompetent-_"

"-But you're not invincible. _Patience,_ Uvani...you'll join the Black Hand, in time. For now you should return to the sanctuary, and perhaps tend to Banus," Speaker unlocks and opens the door to the cool night air, and Uvani realises he has been led straight to the exit, "I believe the two of you have some things to discuss when he wakes up, hm?"

A distinctly mortified feeling, much akin to ice, seizes Uvani's veins, "What do you-"

"Have a safe journey home," he is ushered outside and although he can't see the man's face, Alval has no doubt that Speaker is grinning, "And I will visit you in due time. Goodnight...Silencer."


	8. Chapter 8

Warning: may cause tooth decay.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter eight

So he's been promoted to Assassin.

A force-promotion, really, since he was either going to pass his test, or die in the process. Of course, he _would_ have died, had he not been healed by the person assessing him; he'd thought it was Uvani at the time, but now his memory is clearer, the voice he'd heard in the Ayleid ruins had definitely been female.

But despite the end he should have met, he still passed his test. Due to the aptitude he showed, Speaker had informed him, and _potential._ The Black Hand seems to prefer _potential _in its newest members to actual talent. After all, Murderers who already possess all the necessary skills do not _need_ the Brotherhood for anything but money, and loyalty based on gold is a fickle thing indeed. But those with _potential_ owe their development to the family – they cannot stray from the very people who made them.

What both Speaker and the rest of the Black Hand have miscalculated, however, is that Banus owes nothing to the Brotherhood. Granted, it is through the Brotherhood that he met the person who _did_ teach him all he knew: from his array of Destruction spells to the basics of Alchemy. But as far as he's concerned, he is indebted only to Alval Uvani.

On the subject of the Dunmer, and his no-longer-opaque memory...Banus also recalls those few fleeting moments of consciousness between almost dying and waking up to a promotion; that solemn, almost _pained_ look on Uvani's face as he gazed through the darkness, the hushed tone of his voice, his discomfort at being touched. Banus remembers his _own_ words as well, namely the fact that he said far, far more than he should have, though at least Uvani had interrupted him before it really got out of hand. _We'll talk more tomorrow_,the Dark Elf had told him, but tomorrow had come and gone, and the topic remained un-discussed. Alval would never breach the subject on his own, he knew, so the task was left to Banus.

But how to go about it? Should he even bring it up at all? He doesn't know what talking about it will achieve, what he _wants_ it to achieve. He said the words _I really do like you, Uvani_, but even _he_ isn't sure what he meant by that. Like him as a friend? As a...more-than-friend? He's never had a more-than-friend before, so he hasn't a clue if he sees Uvani that way or not.

All he knows is that something must be done. Not because he absolutely has to have Uvani as his; he's happy for things to remain the same between them. But therein lies the problem – things _aren't_ the same, not anymore. It all changed on that night, with that little _I like you_ that seemed so inconsequential at the time. Uvani seems tenser and more conservative around him, backing away if they draw too close and never holding more than a seconds eye-contact. As though he's fearful of giving Banus any reason to say those words again.

Naturally, Banus has other plans.

Uvani is very, very reluctant to come roaming outside Leyawiin with him: he claims that he doesn't know anything about plants, that he has to practise his magic, that he's _really_ too tired to go for a walk, but Banus will have none of it, and drags him away from the sanctuary regardless; ironic, it's perhaps the first time he actually wants to _stay_ there. Officially, they're looking for Alchemy ingredients so Alor can sharpen his poison-making skills; _un_officially, he's dragging the elder far enough into the wilderness that they can talk without interruptions or flimsy excuses on Uvani's part.

After a half-hour or so of walking, they're far enough from Leyawiin that Uvani can't avoid him, unless he flings a shock spell and makes a run for it – which, going by how tense the elder looks, may end up happening. So Banus takes it slow, makes light conversation, and picks Somnalius Frond as though he _doesn't_ have a plentiful supply back home. But he can see Alval getting edgier, shifting and glancing about like he expects an ambush at any second, until at last, he speaks:

"Banus, we've been out here long enough. Let's get back to the sanctuary."

"We haven't even been gone an hour," he replies without so much as a pause, kneeling down to harvest one of the many mushrooms native to Blackwood, "And I don't have enough ingredients yet. Just a little longer."

"But-" when the other Elf glances around the environment, Banus already knows he's searching for an excuse; "It'll rain soon. We can come back another day."

"It rains all the time here. No use waiting for sunshine," he dismisses easily, straightening up with a handful of Green Stain Cup Cap, "You're not afraid of a little rain are you, Uvani?"

"I'm not _afraid_," Alval bristles immediately, fixing Alor with a glare as he approaches, but the younger has seen Uvani scowl enough times to know when there is no real heat behind it, "I just don't want to get wet, that's all."

"You can dry off when we get back," Banus says, dropping the mushrooms into the bag Uvani is carrying.

And then, something happens – he doesn't slip but it seems somehow accidental – and he finds himself holding Uvani's wrist with no real knowledge of how or why, as if a split-second time lapse occurred. The bag of ingredients is on the floor and slowly sinking into the rich mud, but he barely notices, and cares even less, because _he's touching Uvani_. It's skin on skin, or skin on _ice_, because Uvani has frozen up like a statue, utterly unmoving. And it is Banus who finds himself groping for an excuse, because even he doesn't know why he just did that.

"Your wrist," he manages at last, "Is it still bruised?"

Uvani mouths 'no', but no sound comes out. He's too busy staring at Banus, and Banus is staring right back even though he really should be checking the Dunmer's wrist if he wants to make this lie convincing.

"Good. I just wanted to make sure." And that should be the end of it, all he has to do is let go and step back, then continue as though that awkward moment never existed. But almost against his control, his hand does not pull away but slides _up_, thumb stroking against Uvani's palm and trailing over his fingers. He's tensed like a coiled spring, but he hasn't snapped yet, so Alor dares to linger there as long as he can – Sithis knows he may never get this opportunity again.

"Banus," Alval says at last, sounding strained but not _angry_, which the younger takes to be a good sign, "You didn't bring me out here just to collect ingredients, did you?"

"No," he confesses, even though he doesn't need to confess anything, because Uvani already knew what the answer would be, "I didn't."

He doesn't say anything else. And for a long while neither does Uvani, still stood there staring, still tensed like a hunter's bowstring. _One_ of them has to break the silence, and in the end, it is the older Dunmer: "...I'm not sure what to say."

"It's alright, neither am I," Alor reassures him softly, if the words are any reassurance at all. But it's the truth: for all the planning involved with bringing Uvani here, he hasn't a clue what to do next, or even what he hopes to achieve. Perhaps, then, it is best to simply reiterate what started all this: "I really do like you, Uvani."

The mer swallows harshly, "I know. You've told me before."

There's no way to go about it but the obvious: "Do you like me too, then?"

"...I think so," Uvani admits, "But I don't really know how to..."

"Show it?"

"No. I mean, yes. You know what I mean," he pauses when he sees the younger's smile, and the faint shaking of his shoulders, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just-" he can't repress the quiet laughter, because he can imagine how utterly _ridiculous_ this would seem to anyone else, anyone normal, "It's sad, isn't it? Two grown men, and neither of us knows how friends are supposed to behave."

"I know how!" Alval insists with a hint of indignation, "They talk, and do things together, and...and hug, things like that."

"Hug?" It's a strange realisation that, despite knowing what the term means and entails, he hasn't actually... "I've never hugged anyone before."

"Well, neither have I," Uvani shrugs, but he's still so tense that his shoulders barely move at all, "I never saw the point."

Banus says, very quietly: "There's a point now."

"I suppose," the Dark Elf mutters, closing the gap between them, "You – I think you're supposed to – like this-"

The resulting embrace, if it can be called that, is decidedly stiff and awkward; Uvani is folded around him like paper, effectively trapping Alor's arms under his own so the Assassin cannot return the hold, merely stand there and feel rather silly. And they stay like that for a while, uncomfortable as it is, because neither of them really knows when they're supposed to let go.

"...I don't think we're doing it right," Banus says at last.

There's an irritated sigh on Uvani's behalf before he moves away: "What are we meant to do, then?"

"I think...come closer. If I put my arm around here..." he loops one arm around the mer's waist, undeterred by the tenseness of the muscle under his fingertips, "And you put your arms...like that, and I'll put my other arm...here," for lack of anywhere else, he drapes his other arm over Uvani's shoulder, nuzzling the junction between neck and shoulder in the process. He can see and _feel_ the warm blush decorating Alval's cheeks, though he's quite certain his _own_ face is tinged purple as well. After all, they're closer than they've ever been.

"Banus," Uvani practically mumbles, "I don't think it's supposed to be this..." he trails off.

"This...?"

He swallows, and Alor admittedly finds himself entranced by the action, watching Uvani's throat shift with pure fascination; "Intimate."

"Oh," he says, but makes no move to pull away – if anything, he moves a fraction of an inch closer, "We can try again, if you'd like."

"...I thought you needed to collect Alchemy ingredients?"

Banus gives him a telling smile, "I have plenty back home."

* * *

"Weren't you going for a walk?"

Banus glances over at the other assassin; "I did," he replies, and continues counting out the newest additions to his Alchemy supply. Fifteen harvested samples, in total. Not much...

The Brother seems to share the thought: "You've been gone three hours, and that's all you got?"

"I didn't find much," he shrugs casually, setting everything aside, "I stayed too close to Leyawiin. I'll have to venture further next time."

It's a perfectly valid excuse, and so the assassin suspects nothing, merely shrugging and goes back to his book. And so Banus doesn't divulge the truth – that he actually wandered quite far from Leyawiin, far enough that no-one might stumble across him. That there were plenty of mushrooms, but he lost half of what he had collected when he was distracted by other things.

And that he and Uvani have got hugging down to an art form.


	9. Chapter 9

Romance! Drama! Explosions! It's like a Hollywood move, except with actual plotline!

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter nine

He really hates his allergy to honey.

Really, _really_ hates it.

It's not that it's an inconvenience. Honey is relatively easy to avoid, since it only turns up in mead and a few sweet dishes. But it's infuriating that he, a powerful mage and skilled assassin, can be rendered utterly pathetic by something so trivial.

Naturally, he doesn't share this weakness with the rest of the sanctuary – _no-one_ knows, not even Banus. Well, up until now, that is. _Now_ being when Uvani accepts Banus' offering of sweetroll, and only remembers that it's made with honey when he can't move his arms anymore.

"Uvani?" Alor asks, noticing the rigidity of his posture, despite the relative comfort of his chair, "What's wrong?"

And he really doesn't want to tell him. Not because he thinks Banus will use the information against him, but...he doesn't want to appear weak. He's aware of how much the younger looks up to him, how he sees him as confident, unbreakable (though it's arrogant and antisocial in the eyes of others). So to learn to already Alval Uvani can be toppled by a _food product_...

"Uvani," Banus repeats when he does not get an answer, but fidgety silence, "What is it? What's the matter?"

He doesn't _want_ to, but he has no choice. After all, what excuse can he come up with? "...I can't move."

The other Elf frowns; "What do you mean?"

"I mean _I can't move_," Alval tells him through gritted teeth – though he's not annoyed at Banus so much as _himself_ for being so completely, carelessly _stupid_. "I'm paralysed."

"Paralysed?" He can hear the panic in Banus' voice, and see it on his face when he touches the elder's arm and realises the muscle is as stiff as a board, "Did one of the others tamper with your drink?"

"No, it's-" he swallows and tries to turn his head away, can't, so looks at the wall instead. Logically speaking, Banus was likely to find out sooner or later. But he had always hoped it would be _never_, "It's an allergic reaction. To the sweetroll."

"To the...?" he glances down at the sweetroll, the very thing he gave to Uvani. The regret is practically inked across his face, "I'm sor-"

"Don't be," Alval interrupts, "I should've remembered sweetroll is made with honey. Don't apologise, you'll make me feel bad."

"Sorry," Banus says again automatically, then realises: "Oh, I didn't mean- never mind. When will the paralysis wear off?"

"In an hour or so," until then, he's stuck in the chair. Which isn't good, because anyone could walk in and see him, and he _really_ doesn't want anyone finding out about this, "Banus, can you take me back to my room?"

"Of course," Banus agrees at once, before comprehending just what that would entail, "Ah...you can't walk, can you?"

Uvani doesn't answer, but doesn't need to. Even though it was his request, he still flushes horribly when the younger picks him up, straining slightly with his weight – he's much lighter than Uvani, after all. He doesn't think he's ever been so embarrassed in his life, but between this and the rest of the sanctuary discovering his one weakness, he'll take the former. He can only hope no-one sees Banus carrying him – and when they make it to Uvani's room without incident, he can't suppress his sigh of relief.

Banus sets him down on the edge of the bed, though Uvani is still awkwardly frozen into the sitting position. He tries lowering the elder's arms to make the pose look more natural, but they won't budge an inch.

"...I wish you had warned me earlier," he sighs.

"It's not something I go around telling people. It's a dangerous thing to divulge, especially now."

"With the traitor, you mean?" the Leyawiin sanctuary, as with every other home of the Dark Brotherhood, has been flooded with rumours of betrayal, of slain family, of an assassin amongst assassins. Just gossip, just speculation – but Uvani, being privy to the affairs of the Black Hand, has been informed by Speaker that the rumours aren't rumours at all. "You don't...you don't think it's someone in _this_ sanctuary, do you?"

Uvani gives a snort; "Honestly? No. None of them are smart enough to pull off that kind of deception. But they _are_ stupid enough to pass on any weakness of mine to the real traitor. So naturally-" not that he needs to tell Banus this, but even so, "-This stays between us."

Banus nods, before glancing again at Uvani's almost froze form; "Is there anything that would help the paralysis wear off quicker?"

"Beyond distracting myself to pass the time? No."

"I see," Banus says and then, his hands drifting coyly to Uvani's arm, "...I could be the distraction, if you'd like."

Uvani swallows harshly – it's the most he can do, since he's incapable of becoming any tenser than he already is. Again, the feeling isn't necessarily _bad_, just foreign, because it's been a good few years since he's indulged in anything remotely intimate. "Banus-" he starts, voice coming out far rougher and raspier than he had intended, "You shouldn't suggest that kind of stuff, especially when I can't react. It's cruel."

"Yes," Alor agrees, but those damnable deft fingers of his are still skimming up and down Uvani's arm, barely disturbing the cloth of his shirt, "But then, we're assassins. It's a cruel business."

He whets his too-dry lips, wanting to both turn towards the younger and yet also pull away. He can't move his limbs or neck, but he can still _feel_. More so than usual, in fact: his whole world seems to be focused on that arm, that touch, that other mer sat smiling beside him.

He is attracted to Banus Alor. It's stupid to try and deny it, because they both know. They've known ever since that day picking mushrooms in Blackwood – before then, maybe, probably. Perhaps they knew when they first saw each other. It certainly _feels_ as though he's been enthralled with Banus from the start.

And Banus feels the same. There is no doubt, no worry that his odd, not-quite-physical desire is unrequited, because Alor has always been as clear and straightforward with his intentions as he is being now. They've never kissed, never shared anything more than the occasional tender touch or meaningful glance, but the attraction is there. So obviously _there_ that he can't remember a time when he didn't feel this way.

"Uvani?" Banus murmurs, because Uvani has not spoken, just stared down at his arm as best as he is able, "You're not uncomfortable with this, are you? I'll stop if you are."

He tries to shake his head, remembers he can't, and resigns to giving a verbal reply: "I'm not uncomfortable, just...it's not a feeling I'm used to."

"Me neither," the other admits, and Uvani wonders if that means Banus has never been intimate, or simply hasn't been intimate in a long time; a part of him hopes it's the former, if only because the thought of Banus being with other people doesn't sit with him terribly well.

"I suppose we should take it slow, then," Alor continues, moving up to Uvani's shoulder and tracing the bare strip of skin just above his shirt collar, "This should do for now."

He doesn't quite understand what the boy is doing at first, until the fingers slip beneath the material, and he realises – he is seeking out a pulse. "Banus...?"

"Sshh," Alor hushes him "I want to feel your heartbeat."

He quirks a brow; "What do you think this is, a romance story?"

Banus just laughs.

* * *

They know. His one weakness, and they _know_.

He knows they know, because he's found honey everywhere – in his water supply, his potions, his bandages, his _everything_, anything to somehow get the stuff into his system. He can smell it on them, on their clothes and their hands and their sly, shifty looks.

After roughly the eleventh time, he asks Speaker to intervene. But Speaker is very relaxed, very nonchalant – a good thing, because it means he gets on with everyone, even grouchy Dunmer. But also a bad thing, because it means he's far too lenient with _certain sanctuary idiots_ who, in Uvani's opinion, need the respect beaten into them. Sithis knows any other Speaker wouldn't stand for such immaturity... unfortunately, this isn't any other Speaker – it's _his_ Speaker, who doesn't share Uvani's fondness for launching fireballs at people, and so nothing gets done.

After one week, and twenty-seven honey-related incidents, he finally lashes out.

They didn't expect him to, maybe. He's turned the other cheek for so long now that none of them ever thought he would actually lose his temper. But he loses it spectacularly: with a lesser sanctuary member pinned to the wall, desperately trying to pry Alval's hands from his throat, the other assassins shouting but too scared to intervene, and Banus the only one brave enough to actually try and pull him away.

But he ignores them all, and demands of the struggling underling in front of him: "How did you find out? _How?_"

"I don't-" the assassin gasps, incapable of anything more with the brutal stranglehold, "I don't have to tell you a thing-"

"You do if you want to keep all your limbs, _n'wah_," his voice has gotten softer since he left the Ashlands, but he's still capable of producing that trademark Morrowind rasp, "Now _start talking_."

"Uvani," he just barely hears Banus over the others yelling, the footsteps and chaos – pleading softly, "Uvani, please. You'll get in trouble."

He loosens his grip a fraction, but only enough to let the assassin struggle more, and wheeze: "H-how do you know Alor didn't tell-"

"Because Banus isn't a _rat_, unlike you," Uvani snaps before Banus can say anything, "You're not going to tell me? Then there's no sense wasting time...where should I start? A hand? An eye?"

"Uvani!" he hears the stern bark of the sanctuary Master's voice, "What do you think you're doing? Let him go at once!"

"A-alright, fine! We overheard you and Banus talking-"

"_Who_ overheard?"

"Uvani, if you don't let him go-"

"Just a group of us!" the underling's eyes flick between Uvani, Banus, and the Master of the sanctuary – who he presumes will stop any serious harm coming to him; "We heard some other things too. Pretty _intimate_ things."

Uvani's eyes darken, "I'd shut my mouth if I were you."

"In fact," the assassin continues boldly, loud enough for everyone to hear and absolutely confident that Alval will do nothing with the sanctuary Master present, "I'm surprised you haven't fucked each other yet-"

And no sooner has that last word left his lips when it becomes a bone-wrenching scream, though nearly drowned out by the roaring flames that rise from the assassin's feet and consume him. Uvani, eyes cold even in the firelight, watches without mercy, only satisfaction in knowing that he has broken a sacred tenet, invoked the Wrath of Sithis, and that he really doesn't care. The underling is dead long before the inferno has died out, leaving only a blackened corpse and a shocked silence from the rest of the sanctuary, even the Master.

Uvani turns, wrenching scorched hands away from what's left of his victim's neck, and allowing the body to fall as he turns to stare at the crowd. All the would-be culprits flinch under his gaze, as red as blood, as harsh and unfeeling as ice; the expression only softens when he reaches Banus, who looks back not in fear, but a silent, solemn acceptance of _This had to be done_.

"And that," Uvani concludes quietly, though in the utter stillness, his voice carries like ash in the wind, "Is why you shouldn't poison my food."


	10. Chapter 10

As with GBR, this is the last chapter I wrote in advance; from now on, updates come when the story chooses to write itself. Note, this fic is _not_ over; not by a long shot. But it might be a long time before you see the next update.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter ten

He hesitates, then knocks on the door, a total of four times.

"Come in."

It's a small relief to see Uvani unchanged, even though they've only been apart a week. It's odd, as well, how casual he looks. Despite the minimal and rather and rather bland furnishings common to an inn, Uvani looks as at-home here as he did back in the sanctuary, if not more so.

"It took you a while. I'm not _that_ far away," is the first thing he points out.

Banus inclines his head in apology; "I had to sneak out, in the end. The sanctuary Master didn't want me to visit you."

"The sanctuary Master ought to learn his place," Alval mutters lowly, "Are they all still scared of me?"

He nods, "Very."

Uvani is quiet for a moment, "...Are _you_ scared of me?"

He tilts his head, "No. But..." a smile plays about his lips, "...Impressed. That spell was powerful. They had to peel what was left of him off the floor."

"Good. I hope it took them hours," the elder snorts, then adds, "They haven't been taking anything out on you, have they?"

"No. Steering clear of me, mostly," Banus tells him, walking over, "What about you? Has the Wrath of Sithis come yet?"

"Oddly enough, no. I expected it, but nothing's happened."

"Hm. Maybe Sithis approves."

"One less idiot in the world. Sure he approves."

"Ah," Banus nods, then says almost hesitantly, "The sanctuary's different without you. Feels different, I mean."

"How so?"

"Just...quieter. Hushed."

Uvani waves a hand carelessly; "That's just everyone getting over that idiot's death. They'll go back to badmouthing me soon enough."

Alor glances away, but doesn't say anything. He wants to say that it's so much more than hushed – that it's stale and suffocating, hollow and barren. That even though it's still full of people, it's never felt emptier, more unfamiliar.

He wants to say _it doesn't feel like home_, but somehow, the words never come out.

* * *

Their first kiss is in the wetlands of Blackwood.

Actually, wait – that's not entirely true. Their first kiss was a while before then, back when Uvani still resided in the sanctuary, but Banus isn't sure if it counts as a kiss when one of the participants is asleep. It was so fleeting and whimsical that he barely remembers it; only glancing up from his book, seeing Alval had drifted off and then, quite out of the blue, leaning over the bed to press their lips together. But Uvani never woke, and Banus went back to his reading, so he isn't really sure _what_ to classify it as.

Regardless, their first _proper_ kiss is in Blackwood, sometime in early spring. There are no blooming flowers or frolicking animals, because Blackwood is defined not by seasons, but the fact that there is slightly less rain in summer than there is in winter.

And so it _rains_, soaks them both as they go about a routine forage for mushrooms. There's an odd silence between them; partially due to the noisy rainfall, which drowns out any attempt at conversation, but also something else. The memory, he suspects, of what happened last time they ventured this far away from Leyawiin, the intimacy of that embrace that still glimmers in his mind, even now. And he would be lying if he said he did not want a similar outcome this time.

These strings between them have been tensing for days now. He'd thought it was only him at first, but he sees it now: the rigidity in Uvani's movements, the strict, controlled rhythm of his breathing, the tenseness of his jaw...

His jaw...

Oh, but it is nice...

"Banus," Alval interrupts, sounding rather uncomfortable, and Banus realises he has been transfixed for a good minute or two, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I-" he begins, and realises there's no convincing excuse for it, "-Nothing. Sorry," he finishes, returning to his harvest.

Try as he might, though, his gaze drifts back to Alval as soon as he thinks the other isn't watching. Though arguably he has been attracted to Uvani all along – enthralled by the untouchable – he's never really paid attention to his _appearance_ before. His blue skin, pale by Dunmer standards, and his hair, water-darkened, but still a pleasingly vivid shade of orange-red, like the flames he so frequently and expertly wields. And his jaw, which Banus keeps going back to, is such a silly and trivial thing to take notice of, but he can't help admiring it, admiring Uvani, because he looks _so good_.

He swears Sithis must be playing around with time, because one second he's a good distance away from Alval, and the next he's right by him, fingertips trailing along that jaw, and absolutely no idea how he got there. Uvani evidently doesn't know either, given the sheer surprise written across his face. It strikes him that he should offer up an explanation, or an excuse, or just say _something_, but he never speaks, and neither does Uvani.

From the corner of his vision, he sees the mushroom bag slip from the elder's grasp, and dimly notes that he should carry it next time if Alval is going to keep dropping it like that. When his eyes flick back up to meet Uvani's own, something has changed.

The strings have snapped.

And before he knows it, he's pushed against a tree with enough force to snatch the breath from him, though he's currently more preoccupied with Uvani's lips on his own. And unlike that whisper of a memory in the Leyawiin sanctuary, he can feel _everything_, from the rough, wet bark against his back to the slippery-smoothness of Uvani's hair as he weaves it between his fingers. The pool of mud and water around his ankles, the shivering of Uvani, who's as cold as he is, but doesn't give a damn. And that dank, woodsy scent of soil and mushrooms pervading the air, that he'll forever associate with frenzied kissing against a tree in the middle of a monsoon.

And frenzied is the word. He can't see, he can't think, he can't _breathe_ for how roughly he was shoved back, and how greedily those lips steal his own without letting him pause for air. In the end he wrenches the other away and gasps like a drowning man, which is suitably akin to how he feels right now. Lost in the water of Things He Has Never Felt Before, overwhelmed and perhaps, for the first time in his life, truly _scared_ by the enormity of it all. But he can't work out whether Uvani is the sea or the air.

Uvani himself is breathing hard, shaking from cold despite the flush of heat on his face and neck, and eyes glazed over as though he were feverish; Banus can't help but muse that he probably looks the same. But there's a secret thrill in knowing that Uvani – proud, masterless, unbreakable Uvani – feels exactly as he does, just as reduced to this dizzying, troubling, terrifying euphoria. That someone who is in absolute, unquestionable control of his emotions at all times should lose it – should _allow_ himself to lose it – because of him, and only him.

Banus suspects Uvani has been intimate before; it doesn't bear thinking about, but that was no virgin's kiss. But he knows with certainty that no-one has ever seen Alval like this, so utterly exposed. It makes him feel warm and giddy and extremely important in a way he's never experienced before.

It is maybe five minutes of half-clinging, half-leaning into each other that Uvani pulls back, and already Alor feels compelled to grab ahold of him again. He speaks, with just enough Morrowind throatiness to make Banus shiver in delight, especially at the words stated:

"...Sorry. I got fed up waiting."

He smiles, not just with his lips but his whole _being,_ a happiness that he didn't think was possible for anyone; least of all him, when he's never been any temperature other than tepid. He hopes Uvani can tell, because he feels he ought to know. "I figured one of us would snap eventually."

Nothing more needs to be said. He draws Uvani close for a round two, and wonders what the other assassins will think when he returns from his second three-hour harvest this month, a waltz in his step, and not a single mushroom at hand.


	11. Chapter 11

I do love Ungolim :D

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter eleven

"Dead?"

The tall, robe-swathed woman before him – _Arquen_, he now knows her as – inclines her head with the grace befitting an Altmer, and the caution befitting a high-ranking assassin; "I am...very sorry. I wish there were a gentler way to put it."

He shakes his head, because he doesn't _do_ gentle – he does blunt and brusque and unflinchingly no-nonsense, but this is a shock even by his standards; "But – I – _how?_"

"...Murdered."

He wants to ask how, how is that even possible for the man to have been murdered, when he was a _Speaker_, of all things? But before the demand leaves his lips, it falls short and everything suddenly clicks into place: "By the traitor?"

"We don't know." 'We' refers to the Black Hand, who remain as silent and secretive as ever, but Uvani can see Arquen's opinion on all this in the trace of frown lines across her brow, in the tenseness of her fingers. Her eyes give away nothing but cool neutrality, but it is a mask – too smooth and featureless to pass itself off as the real thing.

"I just saw him yesterday," he mutters, a part of him still adamant that this isn't happening, that it's someone else who just _looks_ like Speaker. "How was he-" a pause, the word too sour-tasting on his tongue, "-Killed?"

"A courier found him in his home, hanging from the ceiling beams," she told him quietly, and added perhaps more than she was supposed to: "It wasn't made to look like suicide. There were signs of a struggle – the killer would have cleaned up. Which makes it-"

"-A message," Uvani repeats, tone grim. And if he was _strung up_, not mutilated, then it cannot be mistaken identity, and he cannot deny the truth: his Speaker is dead. "It's the traitor. It has to be."

"But we cannot allow this to unravel the Black Hand. That's the second reason I'm here," Arquen continues, "The sanctuary needs a Speaker. You'll have to take his place."

"A Speaker? Me?" not that he doubts himself, he never has – he's always had to fend for himself, hesitance wasn't an _option_ – but even so, he's barely been Silencer for a month... "I don't even know where to begin."

"What did he teach you?" she correctly translates his utterly lost expression, "He didn't explain any of the Speaker duties?"

"No. I asked, but he wanted me to learn everything later rather than sooner."

"Procrastination was always his biggest flaw," she sighs, though not irritably so, "Very well. Since it would have fallen to me anyway...I will show you what you must do."

"Then where do we start?"

"Well..." her lips curve into the barest of smiles, despite of the circumstances that brought them here, "It would be unfair to make you Speaker and then tell no-one else in the sanctuary about it."

* * *

"No," the Master of the sanctuary hisses through gritted teeth, "Absolutely not."

Uvani raises an eyebrow; "Last I checked, you had no choice in the matter."

"So you expect me to sit and watch you drive this sanctuary into the ground? Over my dead body."

His eyes narrow, a shock spell crackling dangerously around his fingers, "That can be arranged-"

"Gentlemen," Arquen's voice is soft, but enough to give both Dunmer and Breton pause, "The last Speaker personally chose Uvani as his successor. Surely you do not fault his decision, Brother?"

"Of course I fault it! Just _look_ at him!" the Master gestures vehemently at Uvani, who sneers and folds his arms over his chest, "The most irate, antisocial and outright _disliked_ person in this sanctuary! He even killed one of the others-"

"-A spineless idiot who didn't keep his mouth shut despite my warning-"

"-And broke one of the sacred tenets! Speaker Arquen, how can you hand such a miscreant power over us all?"

"Your previous leader is dead. That position must be filled as swiftly as possible."

"Then make _me_ Speaker," the Breton answers fiercely, while Uvani just about does a double-take, "I've served this sanctuary for years-"

"Precisely," Arquen interrupts, "You are a _servant_, not a leader. Uvani possesses the confidence and determination to take charge of the Leyawiin sector; _that_ is why he was chosen by the last Speaker. And that choice will be heeded, with or without your approval."

"He'd kill every Brother in here if he could!" argues the Master, refusing to relinquish his protest, "He doesn't care about anyone except his little fucktoy Alor-"

And in an instant, there are flames whirling around Uvani's hands, a blistering heat underneath his skin and screaming through his veins, and an aura of such _fury_ that even Arquen's flinches back. When he speaks his throat seems burnt black, the words raspy and guttural: "I'll not have you talk that way about Banus-"

"Do you see this?" the Master spits venomously – though to his credit, unafraid, "Look how short his fuse is! Make him Speaker and this place will be reduced to cinders within the week!"

"_Stop it,_" the inferno he's about to throw dies out at once in a shiver of supernatural cold. He glances sideways, and the caster is Arquen, with an expression as cold as her spell, "Uvani will be this sanctuary's Speaker. I will stand no more arguments."

Alval smirks victoriously, "Hah-"

"And _Uvani_, you will need to tame your temper if you are to make an effective leader," she continues, shutting him up at once, "Incineration is _one_ method of discipline, but what will you do when you have no assassins left?"

"But I-" her glare silences his half-formed answer at once, "...Fine."

"So what now?" asks the Master, his hands still curled into fists, "Do you really expect me to take orders from the likes of him?"

"No," at which both men pause, confused, "I propose a swap. _You_ will come with me back to Kvatch, where I expect not another word of protest. And Uvani, I will give you the Mistress of my sanctuary. In return, you will give her the respect she deserves, and allow her to work in peace. Do you accept?"

The Master bristles, "Now hold on, you can't just trade me in-"

"I accept," Alval talks over the man, "Will she be content living here?"

"She often complains Kvatch is too noisy. Leyawiin should suit her perfectly," Arquen calmly takes the arm of the Breton, who has been reduced to wordless splutters of indignation, "I shall send her as soon as I get back to my city."

Watching his despised sanctuary Master be dragged from the room, Uvani decides that he quite likes being in charge.

"So it's true, then."

He recognises the voice – and sure enough, it is Banus who steps through the door Arquen left ajar. And Uvani can immediately tell that something is not right.

"You've made it to Speaker," the words are directed at Alval, and yet Banus' gaze is firmly fixed on the floor, "I...congratulations, I suppose."

He frowns; "Don't say things you don't mean, Banus," he sees the younger Dunmer flinch slightly at the stern words, "What's the matter? And don't say 'nothing', you're not a liar. Out with it."

"I just..." Alor fidgets unhappily with one of the many belts and buckles on his uniform, "You won't forget about me, will you?"

"What are you talking about? The sanctuary Master is leaving, not me."

"But you're in charge now," he looks up at last, however apprehensively, "Speaker was hardly ever in Leyawiin. That means _you_ won't be either."

"Don't be silly, of course I'll be in Leyawiin. I _live_ here, don't I?" he approaches Banus, though the other stays rooted to his one spot, "Is that what you're upset about? You think we'll never see each other again?"

"I don't _want_ to think that, but-"

"You don't _have_ to think that, because it isn't going to happen," Uvani corrects him sharply, "I might not have as much free time as before, but I don't intend to leave you in the dust or whatever else it is you've dreamed up. Understand?"

"But Speaker-"

"Don't call me that," he interrupts, "Everyone _else_ has to call me 'Speaker'. Not you."

The sentiment behind it seems to cheer Alor up, and he sees a glimpse of a smile on the younger's lips; "Just...promise you won't leave me here alone, okay? Promise you'll visit sometime."

"Fine, fine, yes, I promise," he waves a hand carelessly, though stops at Banus' deadly serious expression, "I _said _I promise. You're the only reason I'd _want_ to come back to this sanctuary anyway."

He says the words casually, because to him, it's just that – a nonchalant admittance, something that simply _is_. Banus' reaction is less casual, more...delighted, with an inhalation of enthrallment and joyous hands that envelop Alval like silk sheets.

He quite likes being in charge. He quite likes being kissed by Banus too, but he'll never say that out loud.

* * *

His first meeting with the Listener comes as a bit of a shock, to say the least. Simply put, he hadn't expected him to be so...well...

_Short._

"That had better not be my height you're gawking at," Ungolim tells him, and all the while, Uvani can't help but notice how far the Elf has to crane his neck to make eye contact, "Honestly, do all the new Speakers have to react in exactly the same way? It was funny at first, but now it's just getting tiresome."

"I..." Uvani shakes his head, still in disbelief, "...Wasn't expecting a Bosmer."

"Mm. Because we're sweet and happy forest folk that spend all day picking flowers, am I right?" guesses Ungolim with a sigh, "At least you're honest enough to _admit_ you think in stereotypes. Anyway, come inside, we're keeping everyone waiting."

Still rather lost for words, Uvani nevertheless follows Ungolim inside his tiny Bravil shack. He expects it to be bigger inside, leading to some grand and gothic underground lair with black drapery and a sacrificial altar or two lying about. Instead he finds a cramped and decidedly _ordinary_-looking room, plus a little dining table with three other robe-bedecked Speakers sat around it, looking ridiculously out of place.

Somehow, he can't help but think the whole scenario is very deliberate on the Bosmers part.

"Take a seat," Ungolim gestures at the chair sandwiched between Arquen and a Khajiit. He moves to join, but then pauses, "Do you know, I fancy something to eat. Won't be a moment!"

As the Wood Elf trots off, Uvani seats himself; his first move is to lean over and mutter to Arquen, "Are all Black Hand meetings like this?"

"He doesn't see the need for spending money on theatrics," she whispers back, "It's not such a bad move, since the money instead goes towards the Brotherhood, improving the sanctuaries and such," she pauses, "The Listener may come across as a bit...well...un-Listener-like, but he's far more sensible than he lets on."

"And he has marvellously good hearing," Ungolim declares loudly as he strolls back into the room with a jar under under arm, which he sets in the middle of the table, "Would anyone like a cookie?"

Three of the Speakers, Uvani included, decline in a collective murmur. The Khajiit, however, takes on and munches thoughtfully.

"See, at least one of you appreciates my hospitality. Now where were we? Oh yes," he takes the remaining chair, which Alval notes is higher than all the others, "Our very important Black Hand meeting, was it not? Since we have a new addition, you can all state your name and location."

"Speaker Ja'Ghasta, Bruma sanctuary."

"Speaker Marcia, Cheydinhal sanctuary."

"Speaker Arquen, Kvatch sanctuary."

A tap from the Altmer beside him tells him it's his turn: "Speaker Uvani, Leyawiin sanctuary."

"Excellent," Ungolim declares half way through eating a biscuit. He continues speaking regardless, "Now...why are we here again?"

Arquen answers: "Concerning Speaker Uvani's successor, honoured Listener."

"Ah, I remember now. Do you have anyone in mind, Alval?"

He nods, "I want Banus Alor as my Silencer."

"What a surprise," remarks the Khajiit next to him, the accent thick and raspy, "Did anyone not see that coming, really?"

Alval frowns; "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Now now, we all know of your fondness for the boy. It's all the last Leyawiin Speaker went on about while he was here. Loved to gossip, that man," Ungolim states casually, reaching for another cookie, "So, have you slept with him yet?"

He freezes up at once, stunned that the mer would even ask such a thing. When he says nothing, Arquen nudges him gently: "Answer the Listener's question, Uvani."

"But-" when he realises he can't refuse his superior, he drops his gaze to the wooden table, not particularly wanting to meet anyone's eyes right now, "...No, Listener. I haven't."

"Oh?" Ungolim replies so nonchalantly he could be discussing the weather outside, "You should get a move on, then. Or someone might snatch him away – like Marcia's Silencer."

"Lucien?" the Cheydinhal Speaker laughs, "He's more of a womaniser, I'm afraid. Not terribly interested in other men," she glances over at Uvani, "But he must be someone special, this Banus, to win your notoriously hard-earned affections."

"The best choice for a companion," Ja'Ghasta points out, "But is he the best choice for a Silencer? He'll ascend to the Black Hand one day, after all...can we trust unfair bias?"

"Alval is certainly biased, but that doesn't mean it isn't fair," says Ungolim before Uvani can even begin to argue, "Banus is a very competent assassin, perhaps even the best in the Leyawiin sanctuary. And his comradeship with Alval may prove very beneficial."

The Dunmer gets as far as opening his mouth: "I-"

"How do you mean?" Marcia talks right over him, "His adoration of the boy may make him blind to his flaws and mistakes."

"I don't-"

"_Or_ it could work the other way around – Banus strives harder to improve himself and perfect his contracts to win Alval's approval," Ungolim tells her, "Plus, his respect for his superior means he is more than happy to serve under him – whereas numerous past Silencers have sought to usurp their Speakers."

"Can I-"

Ja'Ghasta taps his claws against the table; "Isn't friendship regarded as pointless among assassins?"

"Get a-"

"Oh, that's an old-fashioned attitude. Especially when there are advantages to be reaped," answers the Listener, "We need a new slogan. Something like: The Dark Brotherhood likes friendship – because it can be exploited for personal gain! Exclamation marks are a must."

"Word in-"

"I don't know. Too many exclamation marks make a slogan look tacky."

"-Edgeways!"

"Hm?" Ungolim raises an eyebrow, "Did you want to say something, Alval?"

"I've been trying to say something for the past _ten minutes_," Uvani points out, exasperated, "And I've already decided on Alor being my Silencer. I just need some silly test to give him, since it's a part of the promotion."

"It certainly is," the Bosmer leans back in his chair, "So, does anyone have any ideas for a test?" there is no reply, "Come now, you must have _some_ thoughts between the four of you. A creative solution to the problem is probably how you got into the Brotherhood in the first place."

"Does he have any family members?" Arquen is the first to suggest, "We could send him after those. Fulfils the test quota and cuts off any ties outside the Brotherhood."

Even to him, the words are callous, although perhaps because it is _Banus _being discussed. He reminds himself of the ways of the Black Hand – cold, unfeeling, unmerciful. They operate as a business, and Banus is a _pawn_, not a person. But even though he is now part of that business, he can't bring himself to join the discussion, to talk of exploiting and manipulating the boy. If anything, it makes him all the more urgent to make Alor his Silencer, so he at least becomes less expendable.

"Actually, I already did a background check," Ungolim responds to Arquen, "He _has_ no family that could be traced. Meaning he's either already cut off all contact with them or...possibly killed them. Either way, relatives aren't an option."

"What about the other sanctuary assassins? Does he get on with them?"

"Not enough to hesitate in killing any one of them. No..." the Listener taps his chin thoughtfully, "What are we trying to _test_, exactly? I mean, with you, Alval-" he addresses Uvani, "We were most concerned about your rebellious streak, so your trial was to put the Brotherhood before your own wishes. So in terms of his use as an assassin, what is Banus' key flaw?"

All the other Speakers look at him expectantly. Shifting a little, Uvani begins cautiously: "Well...his methods, I suppose."

"Oh? Do elaborate."

"Alor fulfils all his contracts in the same way – with smothering, or drain spells, things that won't leave any marks. Even if he _does_ end up spilling blood, he'll clean up afterwards," he pauses in reluctance, because he doesn't like this any more than Banus is going to, "That's a fine tactic, but he views it as compulsory. He needs to prove he can break that habit if he has to. Versatility is a key trait of a good assassin."

"Perfect!" Ungolim claps his hands together, delighted, "So all we need is someone for him to kill. And I have just the person in mind..."


	12. Chapter 12

Warning: mentions of violence, albeit nothing explicit. But that's really what you should expect from a Dark Brotherhood story.

Erizoel: I have indeed seen that comic. In fact, I dare say it inspired my cookie-loving portrayal of Ungolim.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter twelve

"Sergius Tiberius," Banus reads aloud from the slip of paper, the contract that – according to Uvani – has come from the Listener himself. Which even a fledgling murderer knows is a rarity, so he can't help but speculate just who this Sergius person is, and why he warrants such urgency, "Is he – um-"

"-Important?" Uvani finishes with a raised eyebrow, "It may interest you to know, his real surname is Phillida."

Alor's eyes widen as he begins to understand. Adamus Phillida, the Legion officer dedicated to wiping out the Brotherhood. The whispers of him and his ceaseless campaign against the Black Hand reach even the Leyawiin sanctuary, far from the Imperial City though it is.

"As the Listener tells it, Sergius had a little too much to drink one night and ended up bragging to the tavern that his father was the legendary Adamus Phillida. Of course, his claims were dismissed as the alcohol talking, but he was also overheard by a Brotherhood associate," Uvani explains as Banus listens, nodding – the Black Hand's network of contacts, couriers and spies is well-known among assassins, though few can comprehend just how vast the web truly is. "After a bit of digging, the information was found to be correct – he was born Sergius Phillida, changed his name as soon as he joined the Imperial Legion. At his father's insistence, I expect."

Admittedly, it doesn't seem fair that a relatively innocent young man should be killed on account of his father's actions. Banus knows that is the way of the Brotherhood, the way of _life_, as family feuds and the quarrels of long-dead men take lives even today. And yet, he can't help but ask: "So why not just go after Phillida himself?"

"Because the past three attempts have failed. Phillida is a seasoned fighter, too cautious to be caught off-guard – his son isn't," Alval tells him, "Besides, if we killed Phillida and left his son alive, he would almost certainly launch his own vendetta against the Black Hand. He could even turn out to be _more_ of a nuisance than Adamus."

Of course, cold logic outweighs compassion, if such a thing even exists in the Brotherhood. Banus himself ended up here through callous killing, so he can hardly claim a sudden crisis of conscience. Closing his eyes briefly, he nods once in acceptance; "What must I do?"

"Travel to Fanacasecul – it's a small Ayleid ruin by Lake Rumare, west of the Imperial City. There are two other assassins hunting down Sergius as we speak, but they should have him captured by the time you arrive."

Confusion crosses Banus' face, "Captured? I thought the Listener wanted him dead. What does he need me for, then?"

At this Uvani looks serious. Of course, Uvani always look serious, but Banus is one of the few people – maybe even the _only_ person – who can tell when there's something greater lurking beneath the surface. For such a vivid shade of scarlet, his eyes are grim and steely, like an officer ordering his soldiers to war. His voice is much the same, solemn but authoritative, "A message must be sent, Banus. That means killing him in a specific way – so that Phillida _knows_ it was the Brotherhood and not just mindless bandits," with every word he speaks, Banus likes this less and less. He has an idea as to what he is being told to do, and sure enough: "The Listener doesn't just want him dead, he wants him to suffer."

Alor lowers his gaze to the ground. His voice is hushed, "...Torture, then."

It is not so bad. He lost his morality with the first person he murdered, his ticket into the Brotherhood, so the idea of torturing someone isn't that unsettling. The only thing that bothers him is blood, but there are plenty of ways to hurt someone beyond mutilation. If he had enough time he could even use mental tactics and avoid physical infliction altogether, but he knows that will not be the case. Adamus Phillida is a high-ranking Legion officer; he will surely send all of his men to search once he learns of his son's disappearance.

Whatever half-formed plans he has, however, are shattered like glass with Uvani's next words: "Specific torture. The Listener has ordered that Sergius first has his hair torn out – not cut – followed by fingernails and back teeth _only. _Leave his tongue alone as well," _so he can still form words. So he can beg for mercy_, Banus comprehends at once, with widening eyes and a cold, dizzying nausea slowly spreading through his every vein, "Then dismemberment while _conscious,_ the Listener was very particular about that. If he passes out, you're to revive him or, failing that, wait for him to wake up before you continue," and he finishes with, "The Listener said once every wall in the room has been painted with Sergius' blood, then you can kill him."

"But..." a whisper is all he can manage, the faintest protest he knows won't excuse him from his task, but he has to try: "Uvani, I'm not...I don't..."

"Like to leave marks. I know," but Uvani's voice is sharp rather than reassuring, "But if you refuse..."

_It invokes the Wrath of Sithis._ And that's just orders from any superior. To disobey the Listener himself would surely mean his death. It would also, he realises with a clenched throat, affect Uvani. To what extent, he does not know, but the thought does not sit at all well with him.

"I...understand," he concedes at last. Though the statement is false – he _doesn't_ understand why the Listener has selected him, of all people, to do this, but he will not let him down. He will not let _Uvani_ down, no matter what.

* * *

It is night when he arrives, the sky above him not black but a deep midnight purple, strewn with wind-whipped lilac clouds. There Fanacasecul stands, half-submerged in Lake Rumare – but even water-stained the white stone almost glows in contrast to the shadows. Twisted up from the dark, still water is a winged statue overlooking the ruin, magnificent and foreboding. Banus shivers, knowing what it has already witnessed tonight: a young Imperial man being dragged in by sinister hooded figures, never to be seen again.

He has no problem with killing. He's _in_ the Brotherhood because of just that – he is a murderer, a taker of life without reason nor excuse. But his first kill and almost all the others after were suffocation, quiet and painless, leaving corpses like dreamers that will never wake.

But this...this is loud, and brutal, and barbaric. So utterly the opposite of everything he is and does that it seems deliberate, like he's being tested _again_, even when his loyalty has not so much as flickered. But if the finest tacticians of the Imperial Legion can't figure out how the Black Hand works, Banus doubts _he_ will ever be able to.

He tries not to think of it too much as he approaches. He thinks himself alone at first, but as he draws near the doors someone materialises from the shadows – literally, what with the Chameleon spell so favoured among assassins. The figure is male, perhaps Imperial, though Banus cannot see a face beyond the cover of his hood, and his voice is low and raspy:

"Alor?"

Something about the way he says it makes Banus' skin prickle. But it is a fellow Brother, no cause for alarm or distrust; he inclines his head, and when the man makes the wordless gesture, he follows him inside.

At first the ruin is silent, the same cold, blue-tinged interior that Banus remembers from his contract against the mage. This building is much smaller, however, and it is not long before they near the centre, and Banus starts to hear the shouting. The voice is angry, but still has a certain softness that marks it as youthful. Its owner cannot seem to decide between being defiant or terrified, the stream of words being a mix of threats, insults, pleading, and a fruitless attempt at reasoning. The face – when Banus and the other finally reach the captive's room – is much the same: furious, proud, scared, and desperate.

"You have your instructions, don't you?" the hooded assassin beside him says, and Banus nods numbly, still staring at the man – boy, really – on the floor before him, "Good. Here's some equipment for you to use..." he moves over to a table draped in cloth, and unveils it like a work of art, or a luxuriant dinner – but instead there is a collection of knives, needles and scalpels, callipers and tongs and at least one bone-saw, all meticulously sharpened and glistening in the harsh light. Sergius sees it as well as Banus, and emits a strangled, horrified noise; when Alor looks at the other assassin he catches a glimpse of his jaw, his mouth, the cruel smile playing across his lips.

But it only lasts for a second as he turns away from the scene, his face hidden by darkness once again. "Have fun," he tells Banus with a nonchalance born of brutality, dissolving into Chameleon as he departs. His footfalls are so light that they are almost soundless, and he may very well have disappeared into thin air.

He will not, he _cannot_ take any pleasure in this. The boy before him is stripped naked, bound in thick ropes, and cowering – _pathetic_, he tries to tell himself, in an inner voice that sounds suspiciously like his Speaker. And this is the flesh and blood of Adamus Phillida, sworn enemy of the Brotherhood. But these declarations do nothing to ease the weight of the task before him. He does not want to do this, his every fibre screams against it, but he _will_ do it, because the order came from Alval Uvani.

_Paint the walls with his blood._ There is no paintbrush or likewise on his table of equipment. He realises he will have to do it with his hands.

_Start with his hair, then fingernails, then teeth._

"Please..." for the tide of yelling coming from his mouth earlier, Sergius' voice is small and helpless, barely a whimper, "Please don't...I'm not – I'm nobody important." But he knows as well as Banus that this is not the case, even if he does not act like his father – Adamus would never flinch or beg for his life, not from the Brotherhood. He has only enough Phillida in him to scrape together the last of his broken pride and declare: "Kill me if you must, but don't...just make it quick. _Please._"

If only Banus had the power to grant him that. Instead he slowly shakes his head, trying not to notice Sergius' desperate, hopeless struggle to crawl away, and whispers, "I'm sorry."

He can feel the coldness of the tongs even through the material of his gloves. They make a metallic sound as he picks them up, echoing around the acoustics of the room and drowning out the sound of his footsteps as he approaches Sergius, and begins his task.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen, and we're back to Uvani's POV.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter thirteen

And so, the deed is done.

The Listener is doubly pleased at the next Black Hand meeting, declaring Alor as the newest Silencer as he eagerly pens his personal letter to Adamus Phillida. Speaker Marcia, the one charged with secretly observing Banus' task, relays the events with entirely too much detail, unable to keep the glee from her voice. Arquen nods thoughtfully in approval, and even Ja'Ghasta admits he was wrong to doubt Alor's abilities. Everyone is satisfied, except Uvani.

He does not regret suggesting the trial. There is no place in his life for remorse, and besides which, he has achieved his goal – Banus is no longer a pawn of the Black Hand, now more valuable and less expendable. But unlike the other celebrating Speakers, he knows the boy personally. And he knows that, in the aftermath of Fanacasecul, Banus is probably as scarred as Sergius' corpse.

He departs Bravil, and returns to Leyawiin as swiftly as his feet will carry him. When he reaches his sanctuary, however, Alor is absent.

An hour is wasted tearing the sanctuary apart to find him, demanding his whereabouts from every assassin, but none know where he might be. He then looks around Leyawiin, the swirling mists of mid-spring not helping matters at all, and even debates asking Leyawiin's residents if they have spotted him, despite the dangers of drawing attention to himself or Banus.

It is well past midday when he finally realises where Alor will be. Of course he sets off at once, in a brisk stride that is closer to a run than a walk. The mist thickens into fog as he leaves the city, venturing into the dense wetlands of Blackwood. It envelops him like a blanket, and he avoids running into trees or waist-deep water only because he has the terrain memorised.

He finds Banus hiding in the haze, stood in a puddle-turned-pond that reaches his knees as he scrubs every inch of bare skin. And he is, Alval notices, completely nude.

He approaches cautiously. There's a good chance the younger assassin isn't altogether _there_ at the moment; "Banus?"

Banus looks up. There's no word that can quite describe the expression in those scarlet eyes – hollow? Haunted? Lost? He doesn't respond, nor does he try to cover his nakedness, simply _stares_, unblinking, unsmiling, until Uvani truly starts to worry that the damage done isn't repairable. A quiet inner voice reminds him not to feel regret, but...

"Are you alright?" If he gets a mechanical _I'm fine_, he's going to hit the boy. Banus isn't stupid enough to lie, though; his gaze drops down to the floor – as seen through murky water – then to his right, then back to Uvani again. His lips move but no sound comes out. It's a few minutes before he can actually reply:

"No, I...I'm not sure. I don't think so."

Uvani encroaches another step. He has the strangest feeling that if he moves too quickly, he'll frighten Alor off like a startled deer. Ridiculous really, but the boy looks almost feral without his clothing, nor the shame to cover himself. His complexion blends in so well with the dark, cold environment of Blackwood that he could easily pass as one of the native wildlife. Alval speaks as reassuringly as his usually-harsh voice will allow: "Why are you stood in water like that?"

Banus shrugs, as though he himself is not entirely sure why, "Bathing."

"You couldn't do that at the sanctuary?" the pond must be freezing. Not to mention littered with leaves and insects.

The other Dunmer shakes his head, "That's not enough. I need-" almost self-consciously, he quietens his tone, "I need to be clean."

"This is about Sergius Phillida, isn't it?" the tension of Banus' every muscle is more than enough of an answer, "Does spilling blood really bother you so much?"

"I just...don't like hurting people. _Killing_ is no problem, but I don't want to see them suffer," the boy explains, and adds in a mumble that Uvani probably wasn't meant to hear, "Haven't I seen enough...?"

He doesn't say anything more on the subject, and Alval doesn't ask; he has the gist of Banus' past if not the details. What with the Brotherhood recruiting remorseless murderers, almost all of its assassins have a similarly bleak history, himself included. But he has never divulged that information to anyone, so he will not pry.

Instead, he changes the subject: "So how long were you planning to spend out here?"

Pulled from whatever memories he was starting to sink in, Banus looks up, and again shrugs non-committally, "I'm not sure. I thought spending the day here would help, but...I still don't feel right."

"All day like that?" Alval clucks his tongue at Alor's nudity, "I'm surprised nothing's made off with your clothes – that _hasn't_ happened, has it?" he asks, the thought only just occurring to him, as well as the daunting prospect of having to sneak a naked Banus back into Leyawiin.

But thankfully, these worries are unwarranted. "No, I put everything over there," he points to a clump of reeds by the water.

He checks just to make sure, but due the damp and misty air, "They're soaked through. Come back to Leyawiin with me before this weather gets any worse, or you'll wind up ill."

At first Alor looks reluctant, but Alval's glare soon provokes a meek, "Yes Uvani," and he begins his wade towards the land. The movement shifts and shapes the fog, drifting almost seamlessly over that blue-gray skin; it creates the illusion of Banus flickering from view, sections of him appearing and disappearing again – all except the constant red of his eyes.

Uvani offers him a hand to help the last step from the water. Banus looks at it with a peculiar, unreadable expression.

And then his arms are filled with a second body – a second _naked_ body, and his first instinct is to recoil and shove that body away, because the years of self-imposed abstinence have made him prudish. No sooner has he braced his arms against Banus' shoulders, however, when the younger Elf's grip tightens around his waist, enough to give him pause.

Almost involuntarily, his hands slip around the shoulders instead of against them, returning the embrace. Alor's skin is damp enough to be just slightly slippery, beads of water adorning him like pearls. And his form feels so fragile, so vulnerable without any clothing or leathers, that Alval half-fears to clutch him too tightly, in case he breaks there and then.

"...You don't think I'm pathetic, do you?" Banus speaks into the crook of Uvani's neck, "For not wanting to hurt people."

He could and probably should give a gentle reply. Unfortunately, he's never been very good at sensitivity; "I think you're too self-conscious, if you have to ask me such inane questions," and by way of making up for the lack of reassurance, he adds, "I'll see to it that you don't get any more contracts like that."

There's a relieved sigh; "Why would the Listener give me such a task in the first place?"

Uvani pauses. The whole purpose of trekking out here was to find Banus and tell him of his ascension to Silencer. That also entails telling him that Sergius was a mere trial, and in all honesty, he has no idea how Banus will react. He can't fathom any reaction other than anger, and yet he's never seen Alor _irritated_, never mind furious.

Alternatively, he could lie, deny any knowledge of the Listener's plans, and spare himself the responsibility. But he's always preferred brutal honesty, and lies come even _more_ reluctantly around this child of a Dunmer, barely past adolescence, who has somehow wormed his way into Uvani's conscience.

"Banus," he starts slowly, "That contract...it was a test. The Listener gave you orders you wouldn't like deliberately, to test your loyalty."

"I figured that was the case. But how did he know I hated blood so much...?"

The question is innocent, not steeped in suspicion, and in many ways that makes it worse – because Banus will not anticipate what happens next. Alval steels himself, and reveals: "Because I told him."

The reaction is instant. Banus all but petrifies in his arms, his every muscle painfully rigid. Unmoving, there is a long, heavy silence before he speaks, and his voice is just as tense, "...What?"

"I'm the one who suggested giving you a violent contract," Uvani tells him, his tone betraying no emotion, befitting an assassin. He'd like to let go of Banus and step back, but the other mer's arms are still around his waist – not embracing him, but locking him in place.

"You...you made me do this?" Banus' voice isn't loud, but there's no denying the anger, the shock and the sheer _hurt_ in his words, even more alien by the fact that Uvani has never heard it before, "Torturing Sergius, the suffering, the _blood_...because of you? It was your idea?"

"It was a test, Banus. To prove your versatility, to overcome your weaknesses-"

"But why that?You could have chosen something else, anything else-"

"Then it wouldn't be a test, would it?"

"But _why?_" At last Banus lets go, stepping back as though he has been scorched. He is whispering, not shouting, and his posture is wounded, not defiant, but still he demands: "Haven't I been tested enough? Fighting that mage, almost getting killed – haven't I shown enough loyalty?"

"Look, everyone has to undertake a trial-"

"But why did you pick that? It could have just been a contract to cut someone's throat, not to – to torture them while they screamed for mercy. I had to..." he chokes on his own words, but forces himself to continue: "I had to paint the walls red with my own hands. I couldn't kill him until the entire room was covered. Why? Why did it have to go that far?"

"And you think the old Speaker made _my_ trial easy, do you?" Uvani snaps back at last, fed up of being interrupted. He doesn't do sympathy or sensitivity. He's already reached the end of his famously short fuse, because Banus isn't listening, isn't _understanding _that this was all for his own good. He ought to be thanked, not blamed, "Everyone has to go through this, Alor. Just because of your relationship with me, doesn't mean you get an easier time than anyone else. My Speaker duties come first."

Banus stops. His shoulders slump, his hands drop by his sides and his fists uncurl not out of relaxation but weariness. His voice is hoarse, tired; "I knew it."

Alval frowns, "Knew what?"

"You've left me behind," those words are so quiet, but it sends a shock straight through Uvani, as though he's been stabbed. "I knew you would. As soon as you became Speaker, I knew you'd forget about me. Us."

For a minute, Uvani can't think, can't act, can't speak. Banus walks over to his pile of clothes and begins to re-dress; he's almost done before Alval can start shaking his head in protest, "No, that isn't true at all-"

"Stop. Just...don't say anything," the boy silences him at once, "You're in the Black Hand now. I shouldn't have expected you to stay my equal."

The proverbial knife he was stabbed with earlier twists sharply in his gut. Banus finishes on the last buckle of his uniform. He bows forward with stiff formality, his voice just as mechanical:

"Walk always, Speaker."

By the time Uvani can bring himself to react, Alor is long gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, this thing just refused to be written.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter fourteen

In the following weeks after the confrontation, Banus remains in the sanctuary. He is given no new contracts – nobody is, in fact. Speaker Uvani is absent, in Kvatch on urgent business, according to the Mistress. A part of him is glad, because it means avoiding the inevitable awkwardness between them. But it is only a temporary reprieve; eventually Uvani must return, bringing with him the bitter aftermath of their friendship's end. He can do no more than wait, self-confined to his room, and emerging only very occasionally. The other assassins would probe and pry, but rumours of his last contract have already leaked into the sanctuary's walls. His so-called Brothers were apprehensive of him from the start, fearful of him after Uvani's violent outburst on his behalf, and now with whispers of brutal torture, they're downright _terrified_ of him.

This sudden cold front of his only fuels the hearsay, but he doesn't care enough to try and amend it. He wishes, not for the first time in his life, that he could truly feel anger, or despair, or something, _anything_ besides this...emptiness. Assassins are supposed to be devoid of emotion, and yet all the other sanctuary members feel as normal people do. Even Uvani feels as normal people do, though he keeps a tight lid on all but his rage. And yet Banus, even before he unintentionally initiated himself into the Dark Brotherhood, was different. The emotion was _there_, but always seemed severely diluted. But at least he could experience very slight happiness, or sadness, or – not quite anger, because there's no such thing as a mild fury, but at least annoyance. Now, though, there is nothing. It's as though he used everything up in his last words with Uvani, that his emotion is somehow a finite resource – silly and illogical reasoning, but does that make it impossible?

When underground, there is no telling when it is night or day, and time loses all meaning. So he spends his days alternating between sitting and lying on his bed, sleeping in irregular snatches, indulging in food only when he absolutely must. He speaks to no-one, no-one speaks to him, and so he remains unaware of Uvani's return from Kvatch until the man himself comes into his room. So deadened to the world are his senses, in fact, that he does not feel the presence of a second person, the intense stare laid upon him, or the thick, heavy silence that hangs in the air for several minutes. He only lifts his head when Uvani says, in a voice more harsh and strained than usual:

"Banus."

His first thought upon seeing the elder is of tiredness. It isn't just in the shadows beneath his eyes, but in every crease in his skin, the disarray of his clothing with its belts clumsily fastened and and half the buttons outright ignored. For as long as he has known Alval, the Dunmer has always looked pristine and symmetrical, without so much as a wrinkle in his garments or a hair out of place; a fondness for absolute order, at odds with his snappy and short-tempered personality. That Uvani has let his standards slip speaks volumes about his stress levels, and a pat of Banus wishes he were vicious enough to derive some satisfaction from it.

He's obviously no picture of perfection himself, though, since Uvani continues: "You look gaunt. Like you've not eaten for a few days."

"I haven't," Banus answers bluntly, against the other mer's expectation, since his mouth immediately snaps shut. The statement is true enough – he vaguely he recalls his last meal, a piece of bread given up on half way through, but the ache of his stomach tells him that was a while ago. He's aware that his clothes hang off him in a way they didn't used to.

Alval shifts a touch uneasily, and tries again, "Come with me to Blackwood. We'll pick mushrooms and make a soup for you."

"I don't want mushrooms."

"We'll pick them for your Alchemy, then."

"I have plenty of samples."

Uvani's frown tightens; "Then we'll just talk."

Banus shakes his head, and says with quiet but unmistakable coldness, "Whatever you have to say, you can say here."

For a second, he's certain the elder will shout at him. But then Alval forces his tense shoulders to slump, his fingers to uncurl. He exhales slowly; his lips never move, but Banus gets the distinct impression that he's silently counting to ten.

"Banus," he tries again, "That contract wasn't – it wasn't my intention to hurt you," when Alor gives a faint noise of disdain, he insists, "Why would I want that? I was trying to _protect_ you!"

The younger Elf turns his head away, "You have a strange way of looking out for me..."

"You don't understand what the Black Hand is like. They would treat you as a pawn, insignificant and expendable."

"As I'm aware," Banus says in a voice that sounds by all accounts just like Uvani, brisk and razor-sharp, "Congratulations on joining their ranks, Speaker."

The mer seems to snatch back his anger, "Stop that," he snaps, "My actions may have been harsh, but they were completely necessary, and with your best interests in mind."

"How? How could making me do – do _that_ benefit me in any way?"

"Because you're not expendable anymore," Uvani hisses, "You're now part of the Black Hand."

And suddenly, everything is silent.

"...What?"

Uvani moves closer, a precaution against whoever may be listening in, and murmurs lowly, "Unknown to most of the Brotherhood, every Speaker has a Silencer – a personal assassin, and a successor. It's the first step into the Black Hand. But before you can be admitted, they have to test your loyalty," he holds Banus' stare for a few seconds more before his sight lowers to the floor, "I had to tell the other Speakers your weakness, and trying to lie would just have gotten us both killed. The Listener devised your task, not me."

"But you didn't object," Alor whispers, a note of accusation still tingeing his voice.

"How could I? Just sending you to cut someone's throat wouldn't have convinced anyone. This way, all doubts as to your loyalty have been put to rest," Uvani tells him, tone softening now their arguments have dissolved, "You're a Silencer now. You won't be tested or manipulated again."

Banus hesitates. Now that he knows the reasoning, Uvani does not seem like such a villain, and whatever moral high-ground he held slowly slips out from under his feet. He suddenly feels very foolish. "And...everyone is tested to that extreme? Even you?"

The other Elf nods, "Even me."

"What was your test?"

He sees Uvani freeze up. And since the elder is normally so controlled with his movements and gestures, Banus immediately knows something is wrong. He can almost visualise the clockwork of Uvani's thoughts clicking into place, weighing up whether to avoid the question or not. But Alval has always been completely honest with Banus even when lying would have been easier on them both. And so, he confesses the truth:

"...They gave me a contract," he states simply, "With you as the target."

Whatever sentimental shock he may have felt was overshadowed by baffled logic, "But I'm – you're in the Black Hand, so you can't have failed..."

"I didn't," Alval tells him quietly, "Speaker – the old Speaker – stopped me just in time. The intention to obey orders was sufficient enough, they didn't need to sacrifice a competent assassin."

"You were going to kill me," Banus echoes, his voice cold and flat. His moral high-ground abruptly stops crumbling away.

"I had no choice," Uvani points out, "If I had refused they would have questioned my loyalty, probably had me executed. They may well have done the same to you just so nobody would ask questions-"

"You were going to kill me," Alor repeats, his voice dropping to a sad little whisper, "I'd never hurt you. I wouldn't lay a finger on you no matter who was giving the order. I thought that – that you would be the same..."

"I didn't _want_ to!" the other exclaims, exasperated and weary, "Banus, I don't want to argue anymore-"

"I can't just let this lie, Uvani! Just – just leave. I need to think about this. Alone."

"Banus-"

"_Leave._" It's enough to stop the argument dead in its tracks. With a Dunmeri curse-word from Uvani, the elder turns and storms from the room, almost tearing the door from its hinges as he does so. Banus wishes his reaction could be so dramatic, but he hasn't the capacity for it. Nothing happens, not even tears.

* * *

He thinks only of Uvani during his waking hours, and he dreams of him as he sleeps. Though he can no longer hold the Phillida contract against him, a new sin has taken its place – the man he once deemed a guardian angel had been fully prepared to end his life on the whimsy of the nameless, faceless Black Hand.

He wishes he could be angry, he really does. But instead his ever-logical and dispassionate mind attempts to reason that Uvani really had no choice in the matter, and that there's nothing heroic or romantic for being slaughtered for refusing to obey orders. He also realises, with a small pang of entirely inappropriate happiness, that it was a test, issued by the Black Hand because they were unsure if he would go through with it. _He_ is Uvani's weakness.

He shouldn't be trying to justify his friend – more-than-friend – trying to kill him. But being a Brotherhood member, or the assassin of _any_ organisation, limits his right to protest on the morality of things. He cannot murder for a living and then bemoan his own death warrant.

Uvani would. Though it would perhaps involve less bemoaning and more blowing things up – the contract with his name on it, the sanctuary, the Listener. The thought would make him smile, but he hasn't smiled for weeks, and his lips are so dry and cracked that the gesture is more painful than joyful.

It's a day or so later that Uvani enters his room again, with a bowl of steaming soup and a thick crust of bread balanced on a tray; Banus immediately recognises it as a peace offering. By way of accepting, he pulls the soup towards him as soon as the other mer has set it on the bedside table, suddenly hungrier than he's ever been. He figures Uvani meant to just leave the offering without further words, but the show of enthusiasm keeps him lingering tentatively, until he settles on the edge of the bed beside his Silencer.

He waits until Banus has finished the soup – having quickly ditched the spoon in favour of drinking straight from the bowl – to speak: "I didn't want to, you know."

Alor carefully places the bowl back on the bedside table. He doesn't answer.

And so Uvani continues, the truth tumbling out between them: about the old Speaker convincing the Black Hand on Uvani's behalf to spare Banus' life, hence the vastly-unfair contract against the mage. About how Banus had technically failed but been spared. "I think," the older mer muses, "Even if you had killed the mage without a scratch, the Black Hand would have had you knocked out, and told me you'd failed anyway."

He finishes with a retelling of how he'd sat there, mentally steeling himself to kill Banus, telling himself over and over that he could at least make it quick and clean and painless. And Banus sits and listens wordlessly, neutrally. He knows he should be horrified, hearing how he was very nearly murdered from the man who very nearly did it, but death has never fazed him, and that was before he dealt it out for payment.

_I'm sorry._ Uvani never says it. Banus knows he _means_ it from the look in his eyes and the tell-tale dark circles around them – so his Speaker _does_ have a conscience. But he never says it out loud, because Uvani never apologises to anyone, and the words would just sound unnatural and forced coming from his lips. He finishes with a reiteration: "I didn't want to kill you."

At last, Banus replies quietly, "You didn't. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Uvani's hands, which are tightly clenched, uncurl slightly, "You don't...hold it against me?"

"...No. Not anymore," he is told, "Past is past, right? What matters is that we're still here, intact," he carefully slides one hand over Alval's, still tensed in a half-formed fist. "Though...I'd prefer no more contracts that require blood, Speaker."

Uvani stares down at the hand ghosting over his own; "You don't have to call me that," he mutters, "And yes...no more blood."

"Thank you," he gives Uvani's hand a light squeeze. When the elder mimics the motion, his heartbeat picks up – and he realises his happiness is not a finite resource after all.


	15. Chapter 15

The Brotherhood traitor (I'm sure you all know who that is, but just in case for those of you who remain blissfully unaware) refers to Arquen as a 'High Elf whore'. It could just be a generic insult, but I'm taking it to mean that's what she was before joining the Brotherhood.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter fifteen

"So," says Ungolim, half way through a biscuit, "Have you slept with him yet?"

No matter how many times the Listener asks – and he asks at every Black Hand meeting, with a keen interest that never wavers – Uvani always freezes in shock. He's a very conservative man, _prudish_ even. So while he's perfectly aware that sex is just another part of life, he doesn't want to think about it, or hear about it, and he certainly doesn't want to _talk_ about it. But unfortunately, Ungolim is his superior, and that means he can't electrocute him no matter how strong the urge.

"...No, Listener," he answers lowly, staring determinedly at the table, "I haven't."

Ungolim huffs, "By the Night Mother, you're taking your time. The boy must be drowning in untended lust by now."

There's a moment, just a split-second when his blood seems to boil in his veins, and a million grisly scenarios roar like wildfire in his mind. But before he can act on any of them, he feels Arquen's cool hand on his wrist; a reassurance, but the firmness of her grip suggests she is ready to grab him if it comes to that.

However, it is not Arquen who speaks in his defence, but the rough and raspy voice of Ja'Ghasta: "Now Listener, some of us are too busy for that sort of thing. If Uvani is not sleeping around with his Silencer it means he is getting on with his duties, yes?"

"Fine, fine. Now that you mention it, I do remember having next to no free time when I was a Speaker. But still-" the Bosmer turns back to Uvani, "Mind you don't leave him pure as snow for _too_ long. Don't want him wandering into someone else's arms, do you?"

Uvani's forced expression is closer to a grimace than a smile, and his voice is just as strained: "Of course not, Listener."

He irritably shakes off Arquen, who's still holding onto his wrist as though he's inches away from throttling Ungolim. Which he _is_, but he doesn't need to be restrained like a temperamental child. He holds his murderous thoughts in check – well, most of them, anyway – for the rest of the meeting, then leaves the tiny Bravil shack with a chameleon spell and whatever dignity he has left.

Arquen catches up with his furious strides at the city gates, pulling him out of the guard's line of sight as she shrugs off her invisibility, and he does the same; "Uvani-"

"Don't," he snaps before she can finish, "Don't even say it. I don't need any sympathy, or comforting, or anything like that. I just want to get back to Leyawiin."

"Uvani, he's just trying to wind you up-"

"You think I don't know that? I'm perfectly aware he keeps doing it because I keep reacting to it, but I can't just _ignore_ that sort of talk-"

"You can't take it to heart. He does it to everyone."

"Really now? Because it seems to be just me being singled out."

"He winds up all the new Speakers, until they stop reacting to it," Arquen tells him in low, calm tones that may just have a touch of magic thrown in, because he feels his anger slowly fade away, "He teased Ja'Ghasta for choosing celibacy, me for being a whore. The old Leyawiin Speaker for acting like a fishwife."

"Being accused of gossip and insinuations of impotence are two entirely different worlds, Arquen." He then pauses, backtracks their talk a few sentences, "He teased you for being a _what?_"

"A whore. Before the Brotherhood, I was a prostitute," her tone is nonchalant, but there's a certain coolness to it that strongly advises against mentioning this around company, "Ungolim knew, and believe me, he got it into every conversation I had with him. I used to _despise _him for it, but eventually I got so fed up I just...stopped reacting. It wasn't worth the effort anymore."

He'd thought up until now that any sympathy Arquen had offered was just generic pity, just her playing the mixed role of mentor and mother she has become to Uvani. He sees now that she genuinely understands his frustrations, but she still hasn't taken into account his _temper._ "Arquen, I'm not like you. I've turned the other cheek in the past, but not to comments like that."

"But as soon as you _do_, he'll leave you alone. That's what happened with me. I didn't respond, and I never got another insult from him," the Altmer urged, "The Listener can be frustrating and unexpected, like bad weather, You should take him about as personally."

Uvani gave a long, slow exhale. "...I'll think about it," he muttered at last.

"That's a start," Arquen nodded. And indeed, getting Uvani to back down from any argument was a small victory in itself. "I've a horse in the stables. I'll drop you off at the Leyawiin-Kvatch crossroads, if you'd like."

The Dunmer grunts in confirmation, and thankfully Arquen has enough experience dealing with antisocial assassins to correctly translate it. She leads the way and Uvani follows, eyeing the other residents of the Bravil stables with distrust. He's not overly fond of horses, hence why he walks everywhere, but he wants to get back to Leyawiin as soon as he can.

"Why do you suppose he does it?" he asks Arquen as she helps him onto the saddle of a mundane horse, "Winds people up, I mean. Is it just for fun?"

"I wouldn't have said so," she replies thoughtfully, "Ungolim likes to give the impression that he's...shallow. Petty. It makes him seem harmless, you see," she hoists herself up in front of Uvani and tugs at the reigns, stirring her sleepy steed into action, "I've known him long enough to realise he doesn't do anything without calculated reasoning behind it."

"Yes, but _why?_"

"To test our self-control. It weeds out Speakers who would be likely to attack or usurp him if they didn't agree with his methods. And it works – the Black Hand operates as a unit, not five people trying to kill each other," she pauses in her speech, though the rocking of the horses' movements down the path remains constant; "I know you don't think too highly of him, but he's far cleverer than he'd have you believe. The Brotherhood is more efficient and infamous than it's ever been, even if it's lost some of the splendour to practicality."

"I never said he wasn't clever," Uvani points out, "If anything he's _too_ smart, if he can manipulate people so easily, He knew to use Banus against me before I'd even joined the Black Hand."

"You can blame the previous Speaker for that knowledge. How is Banus, by the way? Have you resolved everything since Ser- since that contract?"

Alval immediately glances about, but there are no guards to overhear the slip. Even the slightest mention of the word 'Sergius' has you dragged off for questioning these days, as Adamus Phillida's hunt for his son's killers grows ever more aggressive. Ungolim is quite amused by the whole thing.

"It's back to what it was before, more or less," he answers, keeping his voice down just in case, "He still flinches every time Phillida is mentioned, but at least he's not angry anymore. It doesn't suit him," a pause, "I made him some soup. You were right, it _does_ work."

"See, I told you it would," the tone is lightly chiding rather than smug. He has to remind himself sometimes that Arquen is every bit the ruthless killer that he is – you don't make it to Speaker without a generous amount of viciousness. And yet there is something decidedly _maternal_ about her; he can't dispute the fact that she's both wiser and more sensible than he is, with the answers to almost all of his problems.

The sad thing about that is, he's certain she's much younger than him too.

* * *

Despite Arquen's reassurance, the Listener's words continue to bother him. He spends a day or so in deep thought, his hands automatically performing any monotonous tasks with no input from his brain. It isn't until Banus, having noticed his uncharacteristic behaviour, asks him what's wrong that he finally responds:

"Do you think we should sleep together?"

Banus blinks in a bewildered, owlish way; "Your bed isn't big enough for two people, is it?"

"No, I meant-" an inward anger rises from the fact that he's _blushing_ – he can feel the heat blooming in his cheeks. It's infuriating, because he's brusque and matter-of-fact about numerous taboo subjects, like gore or torture or how Necromancy tends to attract a great deal of necrophiliacs. But when it comes to his own body and what he does with it, he gets as flustered as a chapel priest. "I meant actually – you know – being _together._ With each other."

"Oh," and he's partially relieved, partially annoyed that Banus doesn't also blush. He instead looks contemplative, as though he's just been asked his favourite colour. "Do you want to?"

"No – I mean, I wouldn't mind – no, wait-" he finally loses his temper, and snaps, "Look, do you think we should sleep together or not?"

Alor frowns, just a small crease in his smooth, dark skin; "You're upset."

"I'm not _upset-_"

"Agitated, then. You weren't before," he leans forward a little, his voice soft and soothing and impossible to stay angry at, "What happened?"

...As if he could ever deny Banus any answers. He folds his arms and looks away, "The Listener keeps asking why I haven't – you know – yet. Insinuating that I'm...inadequate or impotent, I don't know. I'm _not_-" he hastens to add, "But he reckons you'll get bored if I don't do anything...you're not bored, are you?"

The younger Dunmer shakes his head, "I don't really think about it all that much. I guess I have a lower, um, _drive_ than most people, but I just...don't see it as particularly important."

"Good," Uvani sighs, more relieved than the sound lets on, because intimacy is decidedly low on his list of priorities as well. "It doesn't bother you, then? Our relationship not having...being just like this?"

"Not at all. Besides," finally the boy looks sheepish, compared to his utter lack of embarrassment earlier, "I haven't...done anything like this before, so I'd rather not rush. I want to wait until the time is right."

A romantic notion, but to be expected of a virgin. When would the time be right? During a full moon? In a field of flowers? With candles and chocolate and violin music inexplicably present? He can list more silly clichés, but the train of thought is interrupted as Banus keeps speaking:

"...And not because you think it'll stop the Listener from making snide remarks."

He realises, the colour draining from his face – though thankfully killing the blush – just how careless that sounds. "I didn't mean-"

"-To cheapen it, I know," Alor gives a gentle smile to show no offence has been taken, "It sounds to me as though he's trying to wind you up. The Listener, that is."

"Hardly appropriate behaviour for the leader of the Dark Brotherhood," Uvani grumbles, mostly to himself.

"We're assassins. Hardly qualified to judge what is and isn't appropriate," he is reminded, "Just don't let it faze you. You've risen above this kind of thing before, remember?"

"The other sanctuary members. But as I recall, the slander only ended when I set one of them on fire."

"You can't set the Listener on fire, Uvani."

"I know, I know. I'll deal with it like an adult," he concedes, "I'll just..._think_ about incinerating him instead."

* * *

"So," and as soon as Ungolim says it, Uvani knows exactly what's coming next. Not that the grin doesn't give it away. "Have you slept with him yet?"

He feels both Arquen and Ja'Ghasta tense either side of him, just in case this proves to be the last straw. It doesn't help him feel any calmer, but he remembers Banus' quiet reassurance from the week before. A mental image of Ungolim with his hair on fire soothes his temper considerably, and even brings a slight quirk of a smile to his lips.

"No," he answers with a nonchalance that surprises everyone in the room, even himself, "He asked me to wait."

Just as Arquen said, the Listener never brings up the subject again.


	16. Chapter 16

Banus and Lucien were supposed to have a chat in this chapter, but it would've exceeded the designated wordcount, so it'll have to wait for another time.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter sixteen

Banus blinks; "Who's dead?"

"Marcia. The Cheydinhal Speaker," Uvani repeats, "Just got word from the Listener this morning. Her Silencer Lucien is due to take her place, and I want you to come along."

"Do Silencers usually go to meetings like this?"

"Well...no," the elder admits, recalling his own initiation as Speaker – unless they were simply out of sight, he doesn't remember any Silencers being there, "But it's important that you see what goes on. You'll be Speaker one day, after all."

Banus is silent. Uvani has of course explained the precise purpose of a Silencer – a Speaker's personal assassin and eventually successor. _When I retire_, Uvani had said, but there's always that other reason that neither of them want to discuss, or even think about. Banus certainly doesn't want to think about it.

"I don't _have_ to go, do I?" he says, as though being unprepared for succession would somehow erase the possibility of it ever happening, "You could always explain it to me another time."

"No," Uvani says firmly, "I wasn't prepared when I had to take charge of the sanctuary, and if Arquen hadn't taught me I'd still be fumbling blindly. I won't make the same mistake as the previous Speaker."

"But-" Banus tries again, "If you're going to retire then you'll still be able to show me what to do, right?"

"If I'm still working for the Brotherhood then it isn't retirement, is it? I'll just end up running the sanctuary for you."

Neither of them bring up the real reason behind all this, the reason Uvani himself was so abruptly promoted to Speaker. Anyone involved in something as violent and criminal as the Dark Brotherhood should expect a short lifespan, even those of the Black Hand, who aren't on the front lines. Uvani had assured him: _I have no intention of dying._ But then the last Leyawiin Speaker certainly didn't intend on it either. He knows better, but a part of him is convinced that if Uvani ever found himself at the steel of a dozen Legion soldiers, he'd fight a little harder if he knew Banus wasn't ready to take his place.

Evidently Uvani knows exactly what the other is thinking, because he next says: "Banus, I'm not going to die."

"There's always the risk, though."

"I can electrocute people by touching them. I'm _not_ going to die," he reaffirms stubbornly, "And if you'll remember, you're in the same career as me. That means there's as much chance of _you_ being killed as well. If you wanted safety and security, you shouldn't have joined the Dark Brotherhood."

He doesn't have a reply to that. He's familiar with Uvani's brusque, harsh nature, and he doesn't take as much offence to his words, but even so, there's a pang of hurt. One clearly written across his face since Alval recognises it, and hastens to add: "Why do you think I taught you those drain spells? And encouraged you to practise Alchemy? Out of the two of us, it's _yourself_ you should be worried about!" he takes a breath to calm himself, "I want you to be prepared for the role of Speaker. There's no use in me living to old age and retiring only to see you die because I didn't teach you well enough."

He's touched by the sentiment, but not yet dissuaded from his cause. Another pause before he tries one last time: "...We could leave it all behind, you know. Go into some other business, just the two of us. We don't _have_ to be assassins."

Uvani snorts, "Don't be ridiculous. You can't just outright _leave_ the Brotherhood. You either stay on as a contact – in which case, we'd both be roped into assassination again – or you're killed to ensure you won't betray family secrets. Even when I retire, I'll be expected to provide a supply of potions, or Destruction training, something like that."

Banus has no choice but to give up. "It just...never really hit me until now. One day you might not be there anymore, and I'll have to take your place. I'm not sure if I want to."

The other mer touches his face, albeit hesitantly, still reluctant to initiate physical contact even after all this time. "I'm much older than you, you know. Even if we both lived out entirely peaceful lives, I'd die before you did."

He shivers, "Don't say things like that..."

Alval doesn't apologise, but neither does he offer an abrupt _Deal with it_ answer as he would to anyone else. He strokes his thumb across Banus' dark-skinned cheek and tells him, "Come on. We'll be late for the Listener's meeting."

When he inclines his head, he's essentially submitting to the duty of one day taking Uvani's place. Even when his heart demands otherwise.

* * *

"Speaker J'Ghasta, Bruma sanctuary."

"Speaker Arquen, Kvatch sanctuary."

"Speaker Uvani, Leyawiin sanctuary."

The newcomer laces his fingers together and purrs from within the folds of his hooded robes: "Speaker Lucien, Cheydinhal sanctuary."

Banus watches from across the room, given the Listener's table is far too small for any more than the five currently seated. It isn't, he admits, quite as daunting as he had expected it to be. Mostly due to the distinct lack of foreboding scenery, macabre rituals and other such things one would expect to find at a Black Hand meeting. He could almost forget that everyone in the room, especially the Listener, is a seasoned killer.

"Lucien Lachance, that's a nice name. Did you make it up yourself?" Ungolim says, dispelling whatever dramatic tension there had been in the room. But it's still strangely cold for a reason Banus can't fathom.

"My own design, yes. Though I'm Breton on my mother's side."

"Huh. You look and sound like an Imperial to me," is Ungolim's dismissive reply, "It's a very _feminine_ name, Lucien Lachance. Are you a particularly feminine man?"

"Certainly. I find it beneficial to have female qualities," contrary to being offended, which seems to make the Listener all the more keen to tease, the newcomer remains nonchalant and perhaps even a little teasing himself, "Perhaps I should list my favourite flowers? I like Nightshade in particular, it makes wondrous poisons."

"_Well. _I rather like you," Ungolim looks pleased, having found someone so far immune to being wound up, "You can cut that frost spell out while you're here, though, it's making my toes numb."

"As you wish, Listener," and the room becomes abruptly warmer. "Though might I request – Speaker Uvani, is it? - stops using his fire spell. While I appreciate having my chair warmed, it is likely to leave scorch marks on the floor."

Banus glances, and sure enough sees curls of steam rising from beneath Lachance's chair. It's not enough to burn, but the ride back to Cheydinhal will likely be more than a little uncomfortable. He catches Uvani's eye and suppresses a grin.

"Now now, play nice, Alval," the Listener berates. Uvani gives a snort, but complies.

The meeting goes on. The details of Speaker Marcia's death are revealed – drowned, forcibly held down, the lack of any attempt to stage it as an accident suggests that the traitor is responsible, and intends it as a message to the Black Hand. Lucien names his new Silencer and everyone agrees on a test for her. They make it sound like a petty chore, but Banus remembers his own trial and shivers.

Uvani comes up to him when everything is finished; "Did you pay attention?"

Even though Banus has known him for almost a year now, and he can finally call him a friend, there's still something decidedly teacher-like about Uvani, something that makes him straighten up and answer curtly, "Yes Speaker."

Uvani quizzes him on a few topics anyway. He answers as best as he can but falters on a few, because if he's to be entirely honest with himself, he wasn't paying attention to the meeting. Too busy gazing at Alval, his posture so impeccable and authoritative, as though it really were a grand and ritualistic Black Hand meeting and not the rather more mundane reality of five people crowded around a kitchen table. And even now when stood together, Banus can see that he's actually surpassed Uvani height-wise, and yet the older Dunmer seems to tower over him, over everyone in the world like a fire-haired deity and just as magnificent-

"-Banus. Banus! _Pay attention!_" and he abruptly snaps from his runaway thoughts, only just registering that he stopped listening and started staring, and now Uvani looks annoyed, "How are you to succeed me if you drift off all the time?"

The reminder of that swiftly chases what's left of his reverie away; "...Sorry Uva- Speaker."

"That's not a terribly nice way to treat your partner, Alval."

Uvani visibly stiffens as the Listener approaches. Not for the first time, Banus looks at the little man in his green jacket and his cookie jar tucked under one arm, and has to swiftly remind himself that this is the respected and feared leader of the Dark Brotherhood. His incredulity isn't due to the fact that Ungolim is a Bosmer, but because he's the least threatening Bosmer Banus has ever come across, at least in appearance. In some ways, that makes him all the more frightening, because this is one of the Brotherhood's deadliest assassins, a man who has arranged the deaths of countless people, who makes his money from blood. And yet he can still give the impression of being utterly harmless.

"Surely, Listener," Uvani replies, "It would be less..._nice_ of me to leave him completely unprepared for his duties?"

"You're teaching him terribly early on, though. You're not due to retire for a while yet... or do you not have enough faith in your survival abilities to see you through to old age?"

Uvani gives him a tight, thin-lipped smile, "One must always prepare for the worst, Listener."

"Well I should hope you don't die, you run the Leyawiin sanctuary very efficiently. Oh...poor Silencer, you don't like all this talk of your Speaker dying, do you?" this last bit, spoken in a sugary-sweet tone that aims more to annoy than reassure, is directed at Alor, "Yes, I can see the worry written all over your face. And a very pretty face it is too..._very_ pretty, in fact. Now what would someone like you be doing with someone like Alval?"

He blinks, "Excuse me?"

And next to him, Uvani scowls, "Listener, I'm right here."

"I know you are Alval, I can feel that glare of yours from a mile away," even as he says this, Ungolim is staring intently at Banus, "Be a dear and answer the question. What is it you see in him?"

When he realises that the words are addressed at him, Banus glances over at Uvani for any hint as to how he should reply. The man is feigning disinterest, but there's a curiosity in his eyes, and even a hint of worry. So even his Speaker isn't sure why their relationship exists...it makes his next words all the more important, then, but what to say? What does he see in Uvani?

He answers honestly: "Everything."

Ungolim actually looks bewildered, "Oh? That's..." it quickly dissolves into a dreamy smile; Banus wonders how much of it is genuine, "So _romantic_. I adore a good love story. Try to hold onto this one Alval, he's a keeper."

Uvani gives him a glance – just a split-second, there and gone as quickly as a blink – of completely unguarded tenderness. And then it's vanished, as the Dunmer replies to Ungolim with his usual restrained, formal tone: "Of course, Listener."

As the Wood Elf wonders off to bother other people, Uvani and Banus take their leave. They have no horse, what with the elder insisting it as a waste of money, and so they begin the southwards walk back to rainy Leyawiin, following the grey storm clouds.

"...That was a good answer you gave the Listener," Uvani says at last, rippling the silence between them, "If you hadn't come up with anything he'd have teased you constantly. But I think you actually impressed him."

"I only told the truth," Banus murmurs.

Alval coughs and glances away; "Yes, well...good answer all the same," he mutters, embarrassed. Anyone else might take the lack of an equally intimate response to heart, but Banus knows better. The other elf was never particularly comfortable around romance, especially in its spoken form. Graciously, he changes the subject: "Did you really use a fire spell on the new Speaker's chair?"

"Who, Lachance?" the elder gives a disdainful tut, "He was using a frost spell on the whole room. I just gave him a taste of his own medicine, served him right."

"Why would he use a frost spell?"

"Dramatic effect. Showing off. Whatever you want to call it," he waves a dismissive hand, "I'd have let up if he stopped making the room so damn cold, but he had to go whining to the Listener instead. He wasn't even singed."

"You don't like him, I take it?"

"He's too theatrical. And he thinks he's more important than he actually is. Imperials are always a bit like that, mind," and in a low grumble, he adds: "Besides. He kept looking over at you. I was getting annoyed."

Alor raises his eyebrows, "He was what? Why?"

"How should I know? Anyway, I didn't like it," the snappiness to Alval's tone demands an end to the conversation, and they carry the weight of the silence between them.

"...You really do mean everything to me, you know," Banus says again quietly.

"I know," is the reply. And yet he can't help but think Uvani doesn't sound entirely convinced.


	17. Chapter 17

Been a while since I updated this thing, huh?

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter seventeen

Uvani has a jealous streak, it seems.

It's never manifested before, but then it hasn't had to – Banus has always been lukewarm towards others, and they've returned the favour. He was lukewarm to the new Speaker too, but the fact that Lucien Lachance took a certain interest in him during that Black Hand meeting has struck a nerve of insecurity in Alval, which has of course manifested as him being even more short-tempered than usual.

Lachance turning up in his sanctuary isn't going to help matters, Banus thinks.

Admittedly, that isn't his first thought. When the Imperial relents his invisibility spell, appearing out of thin air, Banus doesn't really think at all, just grabs the nearest dagger and lunges at the intruder-

-And is swiftly caught by Lachance's quick hands and quicker reflexes, disarmed and restrained before he can even cry out.

"Commendable reactions, Brother. But perhaps you might save them for the _real_ traitor, hm?" Lucien purrs in an amused tone, with a smirk to match.

Banus recognises the voice and relaxes, but only a fraction. He doesn't share Uvani's severe dislike of Lachance, but that doesn't mean he trusts him, "You'll make yourself a suspect if you go around scaring people like that."

The man laughs, the sound as thick and luxurious as honey. No wonder Uvani doesn't like him, then. "My apologies," he says, and does not at all mean it, but he lets Banus go and steps back, "I'm so used to invisibility I sometimes forget how much it startles people. Anyway, I only dropped by for a visit."

The Dunmer eyes him warily, "I'll find Uvani for you, then-"

"I didn't come to see him," Lachance cuts across him, then observes: "You don't call him _Speaker _Uvani, I notice. You're on informal terms, then?"

He evidently wasn't being truthful about forgetting his invisibility earlier – Banus has the impression that Lucien doesn't forget very much at all. "The Listener also calls Speaker Uvani by his first name."

"He's the Listener. He can call people whatever he likes," is the dismissive answer, "And there's no need to start throwing in 'Speaker'. I'm not admonishing you for it. You can also call Uvani whatever you like, if I understand the nature of your relationship."

Banus tenses a little. Is this what it's like to be Alval? Constantly on-edge and untrusting? "And what nature would that be?"

"You tell me, you're the one involved with him."

"You already answered your question. We're...involved."

"But _how _involved, precisely? As the Listener tells it, you're more than friends but not quite lovers. How would you classify it?"

"I don't see why this should interest you so much."

Lachance shrugs; "I like rumours."

His words are coolly distant, "Uvani doesn't. So I'm not telling you."

"Hm. You _are_ loyal," the man murmurs, "The contract against Sergius' life was done out of loyalty, was it not? Certainly you derived no pleasure from it. A certain amount of horror, if I recall."

Whatever edge he had is lost as he finds himself momentarily stunned, not simply by the statement but the throwback of memories that accompanies it, "How do you know about that?"

"I was there. You don't recognise me?" he shifts his hood back a little, and then Banus _does_ recognise the angular jaw, the shadow of stubble, the cruel mouth, "I ought to be insulted. I was at the door, plus I supplied the... equipment," that mouth quirks into a smile, every bit as vicious as Alor remembers, "And a fine use you put it to. A shame I had to leave it all for Phillida to find, Listener's orders, but then they were too blunted to be used again anyway. Worth it for the evening's entertainment, I suppose."

Finally, Banus is able to speak, "You... you were watching the whole time...?"

"Oh yes. Invisible, of course. Marcia – my predecessor – was your formal observer, but she invited me along for the show," Lachance tells him with a chilling casualness, "You carried out your orders dutifully, but your performance was a little... lacking in passion, I'm afraid."

"I take no pleasure in the suffering of others," Banus answers quietly, and disapprovingly.

Lucien just raises an eyebrow, "Truly? What an odd attitude for a Brotherhood assassin. Even your Speaker likes his violence, you know."

"I certainly do."

Uvani has a glare that could shatter ice, and the magicka humming at his fingertips suggests he would be all too happy to freeze Lachance and test the theory. Banus almost feels sorry for the man, but on the other hand he's glad Alval has come to his rescue, so to speak.

"Ah, Speaker Uvani," Lucien recovers smoothly; it would work on anyone else, but Banus sees the other mer's eyes narrow dangerously at the slick tone, and prepares himself for the onslaught of fury, "I was just on my way to see you when I ran into your charming silencer-"

"Shut up," he's interrupted at once, the words so sharp that a lesser man would've cowered away, "You can't lie to me, I heard the entire conversation. You're not the only one with an invisibility spell, Lachance."

Lucien replies with equal venom, but it's different – more subtle, more insidious, no less deadly, "And I said nothing indecent to him. There's no harm in simple conversation."

"If you meant no harm you wouldn't be prying into Banus' personal life. He has no wish to tell you. Therefore, you will drop the subject."

An order, not a request. Lachance holds eye contact, but no-one can out-glare Uvani. Eventually he breaks away from the gaze, reaching into the folds of his black robes with a cool nonchalance that doesn't quite admit to defeat.

"Here," he declares at last, holding out a small bundle of parchments, "Latest contracts, courtesy of the Listener. I _did_ have reason to visit you."

"Much appreciated," spoken without an ounce of gratitude. He snatches the papers away, "But I'm capable of collecting my own contracts from Bravil."

"Duly noted," Lucien answers practically through gritted teeth. Banus feels satisfied at the comeuppance, but also sympathetic; he's been on the receiving end of Alval's bite a few times, back when they barely knew each other, but Uvani seems to have a whole new brand of hatred reserved just for the newest Speaker. It makes him realise how gentle Alval is with him in comparison.

"Good," the elf barks in reply, adding when Lachance doesn't immediately shift: "Well? Don't you have a sanctuary to get back to?"

Lucien leaves, but he's the type of man who always has to have the last word. So it doesn't surprise Banus when he mutters as he passes by: "How _fortunate_ you are to have such a protective overseer, Brother."

When the Imperial is finally gone, Uvani turns to Banus, still scowling, "Did you invite him here?"

His eyes widen, "What? No, why would I?"

"There must be some reason he's taken an interest in you. Did you speak to him when you were in Fanacasecul?"

"Not a word. He said he was watching while I... during the contract on Sergius, but I was never aware of it. I didn't pay much attention to him on the way in," he shakes his head, "I don't even know why he came here."

"To stir things up, that's why. No wonder the Listener gets on so well with him," Alval spits. He sounds so _angry..._ it takes Banus a moment to figure out the real reason behind it all.

"I'm not attracted to him, Uvani."

Alval is good at hiding his emotions – sure he looks tense, but then he _always _looks tense, and it can be difficult to interpret what's going on behind that frown. But Banus is better at reading him than most, and he sees the slight shift in posture that tells him he's hit the nail on the head. "Never said you were," the mer mutters lowly.

"You think I am, though," Banus reaffirms, trying not to sound too upset. He doesn't want Uvani to get defensive or they'll never work this out.

"You're entitled to ogle whoever you like. It isn't like I can stop you," Alval crosses his arms over his chest, getting defensive anyway, "I'm sure he gets ogled all the time. Tall, dark, handsome. Plenty of people go for that sort of thing."

"It's not really for me." Uvani is shorter than he is, lighter in both skin and hair than he is, and... well, _Banus_ thinks he looks good, but he has to admit that it isn't a conventional handsomeness.

"You didn't exactly struggle when he had you pinned," Uvani accuses at last.

"He had my arms locked behind my back. If I'd pulled away they would have snapped," he points out patiently, "Maybe I'm in the minority here, but physical restraint isn't the way to my heart," he pauses when he replays the other elf's words, "You really _were_ watching from the start? Why didn't you step in right away?"

"I wanted to, but I thought I'd see what he did first. Setting him on fire wouldn't have been much help, however satisfying." His tone turns tentative; "You're really not attracted to him at all? In any way?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I can't be like him, you know. All charming and suave, able to just... waltz into a room and wow everyone there."

"And then he'd butcher them all afterwards," Alor answers gently, "He takes pleasure in violence."

"So do I."

"It's different. You like using Destruction magic on people who deserve it, but he... he could torture someone for hours until they begged to die, and he'd love every second of it. He's not right in the head."

"Plenty of people in the Dark Brotherhood aren't right in the head, Banus, you and I included."

"But we're not like that. We know who we are," he moves closer to his Speaker now he knows it's safe to do so, trails his hands along the ashen-skinned jaw, "We're not sinners pretending to be saints."

He knows he's finally gotten through when Uvani returns his embrace, clutching him close just as he likes it – they're good at this by now. He wraps his arms securely around the man and nuzzles into his fire-vibrant hair, before murmuring into one elfin ear: "You've no reason to be jealous. I only want to belong to you."

Uvani holds him tighter.


	18. Chapter 18

I've been saving this chapter for a while, since I wanted to update GBR first.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter eighteen

Time passes uneventfully, the weeks bleeding into months until another year has gone by without either of them really noticing it. It still rains in Leyawiin, they still hunt mushrooms and kiss in the forest, though they never take it any further than that. Uvani still hates Lucien, hates every glance he gives Banus even if he knows his Silencer would never stray. Ungolim is still annoying and nosy. Nothing changes.

Until the day Kvatch burns.

He takes a certain amount of pride in the fact that Arquen turns up at _his_ door rather than the Listener's. He's hardly the most gracious person in the world, but after all she's done for him, it's only fair to re-house her handful of assassins in his sanctuary. He has the room anyway – most of the imbeciles who once occupied the Leyawiin sanctuary are gone now, killed by their own stupidity or insubordination. He lets Banus sort the new arrivals out while he sits Arquen down, and asks what happened.

"I'm not sure," she looks tired, so very tired, "I was in my sanctuary when I heard some noise from above ground and before I knew it, the place was on fire. I evacuated everyone from as many different exits as possible so we wouldn't draw any guard attention, but I needn't have bothered. When I got outside, the whole city was ablaze."

"The rumours are only just coming to Leyawiin. Something about a gate to Oblivion. Is that even possible?"

"Apparently so. There were daedra everywhere." She gives a heavy sigh, "Because I'd split everyone up it was impossible to re-group; eventually I had no choice but to take the few I had and get out. The sanctuary was completely destroyed along with most of the city."

"Is that everyone you have left?" Uvani asks, referring to the four or five slightly charred assassins Arquen showed up with.

"There were a few out of Kvatch at the time, but most of them are..." she trails off, looking away, "I've had to make Mathieu my new Silencer, in lieu of the old one being eaten by a daedroth. It's not ideal, but it'll have to do."

"Is he incompetent? I have a few half-decent Executioners if you need one-"

"Oh no, he's a good assassin, never failed a contract yet," the Altmer explains, "It's just... well, he was smitten on another assassin called Maria a while back when she suddenly disappeared. We never found a body, but I'm sure it was the traitors work. Matheiu's been a little...unbalanced ever since," her tone softens, "Nothing new in the Brotherhood, I suppose. He's staying in Anvil until I can find a new sanctuary."

"Where will you go?"

"Anvil and Skingrad are both flooded with refugees, so no chance there. I'm going to scout up in Chorrol as soon as everything's settled," she glances at Alval, "Thank you for your help, in that regard. I appreciate it."

He isn't used to being thanked, so he's not entirely sure how to respond. "It's fine," he mutters at last, shifting uncomfortably.

It's ironic, really. He's never displayed any sort of tenderness, compassion or camaraderie until _after_ he joined a murderous assassin cult.

* * *

Uvani accompanies Arquen to Bravil as all the Black Hand gather to discuss Kvatch. The Listener suggests, cheerfully insensitive as ever, that the sanctuary burning down is a _good_ thing, since it may have killed off the traitor. Short-tempered as he is, Uvani takes more offence to this than Arquen herself, and resorts to his usual method of getting through meetings by dreaming up new ways to maim the infuriating little man.

On the journey back to his sanctuary, for once not walking with Arquen as she instead heads north to Chorrol, he thinks about what happened to Kvatch. These Oblivion gates are springing up everywhere now; he even passes a few on his way back, but he kills the daedra it spews out with a well-placed shock spell. There's a few just outside Leyawiin too, outside _every_ town according to the other Speakers. There's been no attack to parallel Kvatch, but they loom threateningly all the same.

Apparently they can be sealed, since someone plugged the first one. Who was it again...? He can't remember the name, only _Hero of Kvatch_. Uvani snorts at the unoriginal title, at the falsity of it all. They show up _after_ the city is destroyed, _after_ everyone is killed and close one gate, after which twenty more open up. Practically the definition of heroism there.

The land gradually turns more wet and woody, and he sees Leyawiin in the distance, along with a few gates, shimmering eyes of fire. He can make out the smouldering ruin of Kvatch too, and for a moment the image of Leyawiin ending up the same way crosses his mind. Not that Leyawiin _could_ burn – it rains so damn much that there's never been a single recorded house fire – but then again, those gates can stay open even in the heaviest monsoon. He's surprised to find the thought unsettling him; he isn't overly attached to his sanctuary or its inhabitants, but Leyawiin itself feels like home. More so than his birthplace in Morrowind ever did.

Strange how the thought has only just occurred to him. Then again, he didn't deliberately move to Leyawiin, he just ended up there because of the Dark Brotherhood and stuck around because there was nowhere else to go. It's always been just a temporary residence... perhaps it is time to amend that.

* * *

"You bought a house?"

Uvani shoots his Silencer a deadpan look, "No, I took you here for the sightseeing. Of course I bought it, look," he holds up the keys, which jingle merrily.

"But wasn't it expensive?"

"Well... yes," he admits. Speakers have a high payroll, but the purchase burnt a sizeable hole in his savings regardless, "It's fully furnished, though. Ready to move right in."

"Oh... you're leaving the sanctuary, then?" Banus looks crestfallen, "I'll see even _less_ of you now."

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, "You're moving in with me, Banus."

The boy blinks owlishly, "I am?"

"You are. I won't tolerate my protégé living with those simpletons I have to call family," he's careful to avoid using the words 'assassin' or 'sanctuary' in public, "This way you get some privacy... Banus, you do _want_ to live with me, right?"

"Of course I do," is the hasty reply, "It's just a bit sudden, that's all."

Uvani tuts, "Should have done it a long time ago. Anyway, are we going inside or not?"

They do, in fact, go inside. He shows Banus the living room, the dining room, the kitchen – all neat and impersonal, just the way he likes it. Anyone who wandered in wouldn't be able to tell a thing about the owner, other than deducing a reasonable income. Upstairs is a little more homely, the shelves lined with books and alchemy equipment for Banus to practise in his spare time. And then through to the...

"Oh," Banus comments, "There's only one bedroom."

Uvani shuffles on the spot. He knows that, of course. He was well aware of it when he bought the house. "Well I'm going to be away travelling most of the time, so you'll have the bed to yourself."

"And when you are here?" the other asks quietly.

He shuffles some more, "One of us can sleep downstairs. Or we could convert one of the other rooms."

Banus remains patient, coaxing, "We couldn't just... share the bed...?"

He swallows, and his voice comes out hoarser than expected, "Yes... we could."

* * *

So when nightfall comes, they do just that.

Uvani, prude that he is, undresses while trying to keep on as many clothes as possible. Whereas Banus, prude that he isn't, strips down to underwear and a nightshirt, slips right into bed and waits for him expectantly. With considerably less grace and ease, Uvani slides in next to him and lies on his back as rigidly as a soldier, staring straight ahead at the ceiling. His counterpart has other ideas, enveloping him even more than the blankets, but he doesn't – he _can't_ – return the favour.

"Just an embrace," Banus murmurs soothingly when Alval remains as tense as ever, "Like in Blackwood, remember?"

Reluctantly he rolls onto his side, wraps his arms around the other mer and tries, really tries, to relax. But it's like their first attempt at hugging: awkward, uncomfortable, unsure. He tries to pull away, intending to give up on the whole ordeal there and then, but Alor shuffles closer, cranes his neck and seals their lips together. It's not unpleasant – Banus' kisses are soft and undemanding, his fingers slowly winding through Uvani's hair, and it should calm him down but... but...

But kissing _normally_ is one thing, kissing while lying half-dressed in a bed is quite another; it tends to lead to further intimacy, a road Uvani isn't entirely sure he wants to go down. It's been so long since he indulged in anything remotely carnal that the thought seems daunting, even alien – what's more, he's so out of practise that he's likely to make a fool of himself.

It angers him, because he should want what is being so willingly offered. Not only is Banus very attractive – doubly so compared to his aged and life-battered Speaker – but he's also, Uvani is pretty sure, unspoilt. There are men who would kill for such an opportunity, and yet here and now when it's all being handed to him on a silver platter, his damn _prudishness_ holds him back. A part of him wants to grit his teeth, seize Banus and claim him before someone else – _like Lucien_ – lures him away. But another part of him insists that the boy deserves better, deserves desire rather than obligation...

"You're so tense..." Banus murmurs in his ear. The room itself is silent, but amidst his crowded and chaotic thoughts, Alval barely hears him, "You'll never get any sleep like this, you know."

… But it's not as though the desire isn't _there._ Banus' skin is so warm and smooth, every dip and curve of his slender frame seemingly moulded to fit Uvani's hand perfectly. He's exquisite and pure and _his_ and he wants him so badly it hurts, but he also wants him to stay away with an instinct that overrides the lust. The same instinct that's kept him celibate all these years.

"Uvani?" his Silencer continues softly when he gets no answers, "If there's anything I can do to help-"

"Banus," he chokes out at last, "I can't."

Banus pulls back a little, "Can't what?"

At first he thinks he's being teased, and is entirely ready to snap a bitter response. But then he glimpses the confused look, realises the boy genuinely doesn't know what he's talking about.

He resists the urge to sigh. It's not that Alor is unintelligent, but he can be slow on the uptake sometimes.

"I can't... go any further than this," he struggles to explain, "If we're going to sleep together – I mean, with each other – I mean, _next_ to each other-" he gets it right at last, "-We can't do anything. Anything intimate, that is."

"Not even touching?" Banus withdraws his hands completely, albeit hesitantly, "But I _like_ touching you..." he says sadly.

He can't bear to hear that tone, so he swiftly takes hold of the other elf again, lacing their fingers together, "We can still touch, I'm just saying it has to stay platonic. Because-" _Because you need to open up, to lay yourself bare, to _trust_, and I've never done that before; I'm not even sure if I'm capable of it. Because intimacy means vulnerability, and I can't let you see me as weak. _He wishes he had the eloquence to describe it, but he's never been very good with words, so he settles with: "-Because I'm not ready. Maybe one day, but not here and now."

"Oh... well, I don't mind that," Banus shifts closer to him again, now perfectly content, "So long as I can touch you, that's good enough for me."

Uvani pauses. He hadn't expected it to be so – well – _easy_. It's fairly typical of Banus to simply go with the flow, accept things for what they are without protest, but still... the lack of persistence is somewhat unflattering. "You're sure?" he questions, half-wanting the boy to kick up more of a fuss just so he feels desired, so to speak.

"I don't really think about sex that much, to be honest," Alor says with a frankness that Uvani both winces at – he's frigid, he'll admit – and envies, because _he's_ meant to be the brusque one, but he can't mention it so casually. "It's why I haven't done anything yet. That and no-one was interested, I guess." Still something Alval can't get over. It's definitely not down to looks, but then Banus has that eerily _diluted _quality to him; not emotionless per se, but incapable of anything as intense as lust. It doesn't bother Alval, but he knows he's in the minority there.

He supposes he shouldn't be surprised when his request for celibacy – which would have any normal person arguing or even re-thinking their choice in relationship – is met only with a shrug. "You're not interested in that stuff at all, then?"

"Mm, not quite... I've just never felt the need for it that everyone else seems to have. Is that strange?"

"Yes," Uvani tells him, "But in the good way."

Pleased, his protégé cuddles up closer to him. He's the taller of the two, but by curling up he can rest his head on Alval's shoulder, "I'd be happy to if you asked, of course," he speaks conversationally, "But if you'd rather wait, I'll do that too. Even if we go the rest of our lives just doing this, I'll still be happy."

His words are enough to soothe away any paranoid or self-conscious thoughts – not a heated declaration, but a simple remark, a statement of fact. In its own way, it's more romantic than the typical all-consuming passion setup could ever be.


	19. Chapter 19

I've mentioned one of Banus' hobbies as painting because I recall there being a fair bit of artist equipment lying around Uvani's house despite the fact that he's never home. Makes sense that they're set up for someone else to use.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter nineteen

For a time, it's quiet. Well, not precisely – the world is on the brink of something terrible, Oblivion gates opening up everywhere, encouraged by a bizarre daedra-worshipping cult. The traitor, as it turns out, did not die in Kvatch, as one or two minor assassins are found dead. Deducing that they must have at least passed through the Cheydinhal sanctuary, Ungolim orders a Purification, Lachance's protests falling on deaf ears. Even though he doesn't particularly like the Imperial, Banus feels sorry for him.

Beyond that, however, Cyrodil is in too much chaos to need assassins, and so the work dries up, leaving the days uneventful. Banus would normally be perfectly content with this, since he could just stay indoors with Uvani. Except the elder insists on _not_ staying indoors; he goes from city to city in the guise of a travelling merchant, secretly delivering messages between the Black Hand that are too important to be trusted to a courier. Banus asks him not to go, tells Uvani that the reason they're short-staffed on reliable couriers is because they keep getting killed by daedra, but Uvani is stubborn as a mule and won't listen.

"It takes more than a daedric prince with bad taste in interior decoration to scare _me_ into hiding," he says firmly. And then, after a beat, adds: "You, however, should stay inside. I don't want you getting hurt."

So he stays. He waits in a house too big for one person, filling his time with potion-making and painting, until each Fridas when Uvani returns from his travels. Sometimes he gets delayed and doesn't arrive home in time; Banus abandons all activity and sits rigidly by the door, unmoving, unthinking, because if he allows himself any thoughts they will tell him his Speaker isn't coming back.

He does come back, of course. Even if he's a day or two late sometimes, he returns to Leyawiin, to Banus. He tuts with a disdainful tenderness that is uniquely _Uvani_ when Banus grabs and touches and pets him at every given opportunity, constantly affirming that the man is alive and well. And then come Morndas, ignoring all protests, he leaves again, and the cycle starts over.

He knows he shouldn't worry. Uvani is the strongest person he knows, hardened by a life spent fighting for survival, or at least that's the impression he gets whenever Alval mentions Morrowind in passing. He's never spoken of his past and Banus hasn't asked – that Uvani ended up in the Brotherhood is proof enough that it isn't a pleasant story. But the man that story has produced is tough and wilful, too proud to die at the hands of a dremora. He's the last person Banus should fear for, but still, he does.

His worries are not improved by Uvani coming home early one day, mouth set into a thin, grim line as he tells Banus of the urgent meeting in Bravil that they must both attend. When Banus asks why, the answer makes his stomach turn:

"J'Ghasta is dead."

He's only met J'Ghasta a few times, but he knows Uvani holds him in high regard, and that means Banus does too. A Khajiit, one who excelled in fighting with his bare, albeit clawed, hands. Someone who, even if taken by surprise, should have had no trouble defending himself. And yet Uvani found him dead in his Bruma home – nothing stolen, no attempts to clean up the signs of struggle. _The traitor._

In Bravil, the tiny shack that serves as the unlikely hub of the Black Hand is filled with noise and flurry. The traitor has been silent ever since the Cheydinhal Purification, it was assumed that they had been eliminated, that the threat was gone. Now out of the blue a _Speaker_ of all things has been murdered and everyone is panicking. Lachance demands help finding his Silencer – her contracts are going unanswered, he can't find her anywhere, _what if she's dead? – _but Ungolim firmly tells him that there are no resources to spare on a lone assassin. They argue until finally Lucien leaves, hissing about a debt the Black Hand owes for the unnecessary deaths of his sanctuary.

Uvani re-tells how he found J'Ghasta, answers endless questions about where he was at what time. They suspect him, Banus realises from their paranoid looks. He tries not to intervene since it isn't likely to help matters, only offering alibis for Uvani's recent presence in Leyawiin where needed.

"Like we can trust his word," sneers Havilstein Hoar-Blood, J'Ghasta's Silencer, now his successor. "Everyone knows about him and Uvani. How do we know he's not just covering for him?"

"_Excuse _me? Just because Banus happens to be my partner-" Banus blinks, startled. They _are_ partners, but Uvani isn't the type to shout that from the rooftops. Hearing him mention it so unhesitatingly before the Black Hand is strange, yet warming. "-Doesn't mean he's a liar, and I will tolerate no such slander, ingrate."

"I'd say the fact that he's your whore makes him _more_ likely to-" he never finishes, because Uvani's fist slams against the underside of his jaw with a resounding _crack._ The Nord recovers, snarls wordlessly, and everyone with quick enough reflexes intervenes before the two men can lunge at each other over the table.

"Calm dow– _Sithis_, Arquen, the curtains are on fire – can you please – will you just – _stop!_" Ungolim thunders at last, with surprising volume for a Bosmer. It shocks Uvani and Hoar-Blood, plus everyone else jeering or protesting, into silence. "Both of you, _stand down_. Now are you going to start acting like adults, or do I have to send you outside to sit on the naughty step?"

"...No Listener," they both mutter in unison.

"Good. Havilstein, I know you're angry about J'Ghasta, but Alval isn't our killer, the timing doesn't match up. Besides, he prefers setting people on fire, not... ah, mutilation."

Everyone discusses possible culprits. It's not that no-one comes to mind, quite the opposite. Violence is favoured by so many in the Brotherhood that the list of suspects is endless, and when the meeting ends no-one is any closer to knowing who the traitor might be.

Afterwards they walk home together, staying a little closer than they usually might, Uvani vigilantly electrocuting any wandering daedra, feral wildlife or bandits before they can pose a problem. Banus can feel the tension radiating off the man in waves; he knows how serious of a threat the traitor has become, how cautious they need to be from now on. And so when they reach their home in Leyawiin, away from anyone who might overhear, he once again pleads for Alval to lie low, at least for a while.

"I won't be house-bound by some two-bit upstart, Banus."

"He's not an upstart, he killed _J'Ghasta_," Alor points out, "You've said yourself about how capable a fighter he is – was. Who knows who'll be next?"

"Well it won't be me."

"But you're risking yourself every time you travel alone."

"What sort of message does it send, when the Black Hand is cowering away? We'd be the laughing stock of the Imperial guard _and_ our own assassins. Hiding will only encourage the killer, we need to show him that we're not afraid."

"Is pride really worth dying over? Please Uvani, _please_-"

"Do you really think I'd let myself be killed by traitor scum?"

"I don't think you'd have much of a choice in the matter." He swallows back nausea, both at the concept of Uvani dying and the fact that they're arguing. He doesn't like bickering with _anyone_, least of all his partner. Although Alval is trying to be patient, his tone is still fierce and fiery, which would be highly attractive if it weren't so frightening. He's been excluded from the mer's short temper for so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of it. They hardly ever disagree because Banus tends to go along with whatever Uvani wants, but he has to make him _see._ "I know you're strong and capable, but you put yourself in so much danger... every time you leave Leyawiin, I get so scared that you might not come back."

The words are earnest, from the heart. He's aware that he doesn't have the same capacity for sentiment that most people do, but he cares for Uvani more than he ever has for anyone and anything else. He doesn't know how to say it, so he can only hope Uvani sees the conviction in his eyes. He cups the other man's jaw when he tries to turn his head away and break the gaze, forces him to acknowledge Banus' plight.

"I will-" Uvani starts, and Alor grows hopeful. "-I will always return to Leyawiin, I promise."

...And the hope abruptly dies. So he's going to leave again, then. "But-"

"You doubt my word, Banus?"

"...No," he mumbles, letting his hands drop from Uvani's face. He would never accuse the elder of lying or making false promises. That doesn't mean he's reassured, but this is a debate he isn't going to win even if he argued for the rest of his days.

Uvani leaves again on Morndas. He comes home Fridas, not any worse for wear. And their life continues.


	20. Chapter 20

Near the end now! There should be one, maybe two chapters after this.

* * *

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter twenty

A few weeks later, Uvani returns to Leyawiin a little earlier than usual, and catches Banus picking mushrooms in the wetlands. "What are you doing?" he hisses.

"Uvani?" Banus looks up, surprised, but happily so. "My alchemy supplies are running low."

Not surprising, given how many potions the younger mer has been making lately. It keeps him busy and focused while Uvani is away and so he doesn't discourage it, but... "I gave you specific instructions to stay indoors, or at least inside Leyawiin. Why didn't you just go to the shop?"

"Why pay for something I can harvest freely?"

"A small price for safety. Come with me, it's dangerous out here."

"The Oblivion gates aren't a threat anymore, someone came by and closed them all," Banus tells him and then, infuriatingly, goes back to his gathering, "There's still bloodgrass growing around the remains, but the daedra are gone."

"And what about the traitor?"

A pause, "What about him? Last I checked, you weren't too concerned."

Oh, so that's how it is. Uvani grits his teeth to keep from snapping. "I can defend myself better than you."

"But I can still fight well enough to become a Silencer."

Bloody defiance. "You're limited by your reluctance to leave marks. One moment of hesitancy could cost you your life."

"Well, there's plenty of water around here to drown him in."

Bloody defiance! Where's he's learned this stubbornness, Uvani doesn't know. "Banus," he says as patiently as he's able – which is to say, not very. "Can we _please_ go indoors?"

The fact that he's asking and not demanding seems to alert Banus to just how tense Uvani is. "What's wrong?" he asks softly, "Did something happen? You weren't – you weren't attacked, were you?"

"I'll explain when we're in private. Anyone could listen in here."

Finally, Banus follows him back to their house in Leyawiin, clutching at the half-empty supplies bag in his hands. After all the caution he took while collecting, he carelessly tosses it aside once they're through the front door, greater concerns on his mind. "Did the traitor come after you?"

"Not me. Shaleez." At the nonplussed expression, Alval explains: "Ungolim's Silencer. She was lying low in a cave armed to the teeth. Another assassin went to check on her and found the traitor had got there first."

If the situation wasn't serious before, it has increased tenfold now. Silencers are the Brotherhood's best assassins, but being the _Listener's_ Silencer demands an even higher standard. She was hidden, she was prepared... and unlike Banus, she had no aversion to spilling blood. It makes Uvani acutely aware of how very vulnerable his protégé is.

"Only the inner circle of the Black Hand knew where she was hiding, which narrows the list of suspects," he continues, "But whoever had this information must also know about all of us, including you. Which is why it is _imperative_ you stay within the city walls, you you understand? Don't even leave the house unless you have to."

"But... if hiding didn't help Shaleez-"

"She was in a cave, alone. At least here you can lead the traitor into the streets, call for help – that is, if the traitor comes for you." It was too dangerous not to plan for it. The traitor was obviously picking the Black Hand off one by one, but there was no pattern to it, no way to discern who would be next. But he couldn't shake the paranoia that they would come _here_, that Banus would wind up like the other victims. He hadn't seen Shaleez' body, but if it had looked anything like J'Ghasta's, it had not been a merciful death.

No. He wouldn't let that happen to Banus. His entire life had revolved around looking out for himself – no-one had ever helped _him_, why should he help other people? – but if there was one person worth protecting, no matter the cost...

"I'll stay inside," Banus tells him quietly, "But I want you to do the same."

"I can't. The Black Hand is falling apart, someone has to hold it together."

"But why you? Everyone else is going into hiding, there's no point in trying to save face. Please, stay with me."

He looks away uncomfortably, "I don't like being stuck in one place, Banus. You know that."

"Then let me travel with you, at least."

"I can't do that." Too dangerous for Banus, out in the wilderness. It would also leave his house unguarded for others to break into, find his carefully-hidden Black Hand robes. But then, others could also break in and find Banus; at best, Banus would have to kill someone and alert the authorities. At worst, Banus could be...

"So I have to stay here and watch you leave every Morndas, knowing I might never see you again?" and before Uvani can open his mouth, Banus adds: "I _know_ you can defend yourself. So could J'Ghasta. So could Shaleez."

"I'll think about it." At Banus' disappointed look, he amends, "I will, I'll work out a way to keep us both safe. You'll see."

* * *

That evening, Uvani works something out.

Banus is right. Not about Alval risking death and danger every day, as he seems to think, but Shaleez' death calls attention to the fact that leaving Alor in hiding won't protect him. In fact, as long as the other elf is alone and without Uvani to vigilantly watch over him, he is danger. Leyawiin would provide some safety in that it's quiet and unremarkable, a good place to lie low. But that presents it's own problem, people here are so busy lying low that they wouldn't help a lone Dunmer being pursued through the streets; in fact with the heavy rain and mist that often shrouds the place, they probably wouldn't even be able to _see_ him. A mist that would hide the traitor as he approached Banus in the streets, drawing his knife and-

He clenches the arm of his chair so tight he thinks the wood might splinter, white-knuckled from the pressure. Banus can't stay here, especially because the traitor undoubtedly knows just where he is. But nor can he leave Banus hiding somewhere remote, alone. They both need to move elsewhere, somewhere nobody knows, not even the Black Hand. _Especially_ not the Black Hand.

He has to leave the Brotherhood.

He's old enough – by assassin standards anyway – to call for a retirement, but you need to give plenty of notice, and he doubts Ungolim will let him off that easily. Plus, the Brotherhood is for life, if you're not an assassin you're a contact, still part of the web, still in danger. No, he needs to disappear without warning, without any indication where he might be so no-one can come looking for him. Perhaps it's cowardly; in fact, his pride fiercely protests against the idea of _running away_. But then, he isn't doing it for himself.

He and Banus can start a new life elsewhere, doing something small and mundane that earns them enough to get by without attracting any attention. It wouldn't be a particularly exciting life, but frankly he's had enough excitement to last him two lifetimes, and the innumerable frown lines on his face seem to agree. Besides, Banus would be safe, that's the important thing.

The mer in question headed upstairs earlier to rest, after Uvani asked to be alone. He suspects Alor tried to stay awake for him, but it's well past midnight now, and he'll be asleep. Now that Uvani has come to his conclusions, he can slip into bed next to him and then, in the morning, tell him of the plan. They can be gone by the afternoon, off to somewhere they won't be recognised by the Brotherhood or persecuted for being Dunmer; Morrowind fits both of those quota, but Uvani left there years ago and he doesn't intend to go back. Maybe Valenwood or Hammerfell, they'll discuss it tomorrow. But before turning in for the night, there's one more thing he needs to think over...

He reaches into his pocket, withdraws the small object, smooth underneath his fingers. He bought it on impulse after hearing about Shaleez' death, but now he isn't so sure. Of course, he would just pass it off as a simple gift, but the implications are obvious. He doesn't know how Banus will react to it – favourably, he presumes, but in its own way that's even more daunting. He always strives to speak his mind, but he's never had to say anything like this before. Then again, there's never been anyone like Banus before. And there probably never will be again, if he doesn't seize the opportunity now.

He sighs tiredly, closing his fingers over the object, hiding it away in the palm of his hand. A last drink, and then to bed. He gropes blindly for the bottle on the table next to him, raises it to his lips, drinks deeply.

And tastes honey.

His eyes snap open, but it's too late, he can already feel allergic paralysis spread through his body. His limbs tighten and petrify, welding him uselessly to his chain. And then, from behind him, an invisibility spell breaks as someone reaches over, plucking the bottle of mead from his unresisting hand.

"Good evening," a voice by his ear says pleasantly.

She moves in front of him with the leisurely, arrogant pace of someone who knows she has all the time in the world. He knew it already, but her Brotherhood attire confirms it – the traitor. Her hood obscures most of her face, but he can still make out the upwards curve of her lips.

"Filthy guttersnipe," he spits out while he still has use of his mouth, since he can feel the paralysis creeping up there too, "You won't get away with this! By Sithis, if I could only move my arms I'd rip that smile right off your face!"

"_Quiet_, please," she hushes him, not at all fazed by his threat, "You will wake the man upstairs..."

_Banus._ Banus will come running to save him if alerted. He opens his mouth to do just that-

"...And then I will have to kill him."

-Then snaps it shut again. She can kill Banus, there's no doubt about that. She's taken out J'Ghasta and Shaleez and countless others. She _would_ kill Banus too, there's no hint of hesitation in her tone. She enjoys killing and maiming; he recalls the bloodied state the others were found in, barely recognisable. The thought of Banus ending up the same way makes his stomach turn... no, he must stay silent. To wake the boy would be a death sentence.

"Playing the self sacrifice, are we? How _interesting_," the woman comments, "The wife wasn't quite right then, he eloped with a man instead of another woman. Not that it makes any difference, I suppose."

He frowns, confused. Wife? Who's wife? Before he can suss out whether she is deliberately trying to confuse him, she goes on:

"Right about the honey thing, though... a quick knife to the ribs would have been simpler, but I wanted to savour the moment," there sounded the slow, metallic scrape of a knife being drawn, the blade glinting wickedly in the firelight. It looks oddly familiar, though he can't think why. "And I _will_ savour it. Usually I have to knock them unconscious before I start cutting, and that's just no fun at all."

He'd snap and snarl back, but his allergies catch up with him, locking his jaw in place. He could still make a wordless scream that would carry upstairs, but he can already picture the disastrous outcome: Banus split-second hesitance to draw blood, more than enough time for the woman to gut him. It is his greatest weaknesses, just as honey – and being stupid enough to drink without sniffing it first – is Uvani's. Now he cannot struggle, cannot cast spells, cannot even speak to stall her until the paralysis wears off. He cannot even shudder as he drags the very tip of the dagger over his skin, blood welling up in its wake. He's definitely seen the design somewhere before, the intricate black handle inlaid with gold. If he can just remember, he'll have some clue as to who the traitor is.

Wait.

_Lachance._

He can't remember when it was precisely, but he's seen the Imperial idly playing with an identical dagger before. What had he called it...? _Blade of Woe_ or something equally melodramatic. He must have gifted this to her then, which means... this is Lachance's Silencer, the only surviving member of the Cheydinhal Purification. Laughable, that it should kill everyone except the traitor herself, or at least it might be laughable were he not about to die. As it stands he's terrified, which he focuses into raw anger because he will not die cowering and whimpering. He focuses what little magic he can access into a spell – not to hurt her, he knows it wouldn't succeed, but to leave a message for the rest of the Black Hand when they... when they find him. At least then his death won't be completely meaningless.

There is triumph in his eyes as he meets her gaze, unflinching in the face of death; he will not give her the satisfaction of fear. Not even as she trails her knife up his arm and shoulder, a continuous, seam-like scar that will be the first of many to come. She finishes the trail at his lips so he can taste his own blood.

"What a proud creature you are. I wonder how long that will last?" she murmurs silkily. "Remember not to scream. I'd rather not kill the man upstairs, but witnesses are witnesses."

He will protect Banus, no matter the cost, even if that cost is his own life. For the rest of the night, he is silent.


End file.
